Just masturbating, that's all. And dreaming, that's all. Picturing herself moving her warm lips over Larry's enormous penis head, taking it into her wet, saliva-filled mouth. She saw herself letting her tongue flicker around the smooth and almost tasteless crown of the pulsing organ. Larry had always liked that. All the men in her life had. She thought for a split second about Marvin and her teenage years. Marvin had been the first one to introduce her to the delicious sucking game. Tasteless but delicious? How could that be? But it was, and she decided not to think anymore of Marvin. Larry, yes, Larry. And he'd be home any minute now ... after so long. And she remembered the first night Larry and she had been together, before they married. That seemed so long ago. And what he said: "Hmmm: You have a hairy pussy, Gertie."
"Do you like hairy twats, Larry?" she had answered with a question.
Now she heard the key in the front door. It was him! Him!
Yes! Yes! Larry was home again, back from his latest trip, home, hot, ready, and his tongue would be-delving inside her juicing network in a matter of seconds. God! how she missed that man!
In Gert's mind, images fascinating but not really to the point:
The resonant boom-boom-boom of the native drums throb through the night. A massive fire blazes hot in the center of the camp. The girl lashed to the stake writhes, and sweat streams from the heat blasting in her face, ravaging her body. Brown men beat the rawhide skins stretched taut across the hollow wood frame. Boom-boom-boom. A dancing, naked young man masturbates in the midst of women and children-silent, tense ... Boom, boom, boom.
"Picture it, feel it, listen to it. Come."
Larry was back from another trip. Gert watched him starting to unpack. "Come? How can I when you're unpacking? You're supposed to be un-dressing! I don't want to hear about your trip, naked men or no, I want to feel it."
Wordlessly and quietly, Larry opened the suitcase and tossed a huge limp rag-type doll to his wife. It landed in the middle of her naked outstretched legs, black face down, one of the legs catching in the curls of her tawny, tangled pubic hair.
"A doll? Larry, I thought you went to Africa. This looks like an ordinary American doll-black or no."
Larry nodded and took the doll from her lap, two of his fingers lightly brushing her flat tummy.
"Picked this up at the airport. At Addis Ababa. They couldn't give me one of theirs-against tribal customs or something-but this'll do, I think."
The suitcase, now closed, crashed to the floor and the doll was sent to a resting place on the dresser across the bedroom. With a minimum of motion Larry was beside her on the bed, stripped. "It was a very successful trip this time, very successful. I've got to schedule another one there again soon. They've got a couple other interesting things I didn't have time to fully-"
"Hurry, for God's sake! You know I can never wait for you to come home. What souvenirs! Ah!"
His left hand was working-ring and pinky fingers moving up into her rear and the thumb and index finger slowly and deeply stroking her vagina. The middle finger lightly covered the distance between the others. He was mounting one breast and cupping the other as she lay, already open-mouthed and writhing under his torso. "Yes, this is the one lesson you're going to love-once you get used to the method."
"Meth-?" His right hand gently stopped her. question as he jammed his fingers to the knuckles into her. He shifted, covering her body with his, then laying atop her as still as stone. Still his right hand was on her mouth, which opened wide as she suddenly felt hard pulsating cock gently rubbing against her clitoris.
She reached down to grasp it at the root. She loved feeling it stroke her like that from the clit to the crack between her soft ass in long, liquid, tortuous strokes, pausing just on top of the cunt, as though trying to decide whether or not to enter. His left hand, removed agonizingly from where its fingers had been lodged, under her now, heavily massaging her buttocks. She was so sensitized by his merest touch and the suggestions he could whisper in her ear when he wanted that she could come almost on contact. It had taken him a long time to get her to that point of conditioning. Crazy conditioning, mad wild things. They didn't even have to be undressed. On a city street or in a shop, for example, he could rub her shoulder blade and whisper things like how would you like me to come right here on your shoulder and rub all those good, sweet, sticky juices into your bones while you think of my hot cock dripping down your back, resting on your neck. Or as he patted her butt murmuring about how he was going to ram his fat cock up her ass without grease-without the preliminary priming-so it would tear her insides out and make her feel like she had to take a monumental shit. He had done this to every area of her body until she was to the point where the simplest touch and the slightest word would make her own juices start to flow.
They were flowing now as she heard him whisper, "How would you like me to make you come without even touching you-without you touching yourself?"
She stared at him, incredulous, thinking briefly that he had picked up a tropical fever instead of a new technique, but the eager glint of his eyes told her that he was serious-and anxious to start. With a final licking of her body, starting with her toes and with a lengthy pause on the midsection, his tongue darted between her legs and up into her body while his cock pierced her open mouth. He ended by stroking her neck with his prick, sitting astride her pendulous breasts while she gently fingered his upended asshole. She eyed its excited puckering. Strange. She even adored his asshole. And then he was gone from her and back on the bed holding the tall black life-like, big-breasted, tight-assed doll in front of his huge maleness. He sat it on his extended prick.
"The Muktari men make their women come without a touch." In front of the whole village-the sign of attaining manhood. The test of it, in fact. If the guy can't take a woman that he's not bedded before and make her come with this,"-he held up the doll-" just this, then he is banished from the tribe."
Very interesting, she thought, but let's fuck or something. God, am I hot and wanting it. But she knew better than to say anything. Always before the new thine was practiced Larry had to explain as much of the background as he knew. It was part of the price she had to pay. And so far it had always been worth it.
So far. This time she was doubtful.
"Just the doll," she said. "It seems incredible. What if the girl fakes-" And she wondered momentarily if she would have to fake it to satisfy Larry. It would be the first time ever, but everything had to have a first time.
"Fake it? From what I saw, baby, there were no fakes. Although you think there might be, just to get out of the uncomfortable position."
"Position? Not like the thing you brought back from Algeria?"
"Well, no, nothing like that-a lot different from that, I would say. But I'm not sure how I'll accomplish this. I've given it a lot of thought, though-that eight-hour flight gave me lots of-time to refine and adapt some of the ideas to our own life." He rubbed his jaw reflectively.
"Larry, I'm not going to like this one, I can tell."
"You'll love it-you always do."
"I love you, Larry, but-"
He had been up and searching through his closet. He turned and grinned. "That's my girl." He sat back on the bed, facing her. "Now let me fill you in a little more. I'll warm you up a bit while I do, although it's strictly taboo. Literally taboo." He took the belts that he had gotten from the closet and passed one snakily down her body, giving it a snapping flick at her breasts. She loved that. It was like when he was biting her with sharp nibbling grasps of her skin. It hurt, yes, a little at first, but she knew the pleasure-pain was his way of showing her who was master. Her master spoke:
"All the village elders gather around the traditional campfire and the about-to-be-man parades bare-assed in front of them holding his dong out for inspection. Sometimes a man or woman takes an occasional suck or pokes a finger up his ass or jiggles his balls as though inspecting him for the slave market. After a lot of shouting and laughing and stuff, the initiate does this ceremonial dance, see." ' I, she thought, as his fingers danced wildly on her taut skin, working his way up and down her body, beating a tattoo of drum rhythm that she could feel being matched inside by the pulsing, beating center of her being. Her cunt danced, too, waiting for the thrust of something, anything. His fingers skipped past the opening and flurried down the insides of her thighs and the tension mounted in her. Hardly paying attention to what he was saying she reached down for his cock which had wilted somewhat and which she wanted to spark back into life. His quick, darting fingers stopped her short of her goal and he admonished her with an "I want it that way, real soft. It's part of it all."
He pushed her over onto her stomach and ran one of the belts between her legs, two of his fingers lingering outside and then barely within her ass, working her gently, slowly, to get the juices flowing again. Through the haze that her mind was becoming she heard him say that when the dance is over, the boy again parades before the village elders until his manhood is completely limp and then they bring out the stake and the girl. With rawhide thongs-"Forgot to buy some, but the belts ought to work"-they lash the girl to the stake away from too much heat of the fire but still in its direct light, and the music starts up again. A big ceremony is made of bringing out the doll-a life-size, very life-like one-and the chief hands it to the man while holding his other hand up for silence to the now-tense group. "And then, without touching her-the live one, I mean-he makes her come. Like this."
Giving one final finger thrust to her quivering, lubricating ass-button, he stood up over her and pulled the belt from between her legs. He turned her over onto her back again and spread-eagled her body across the bed. As he strapped the arms and legs to the frame he explained to her that part of the pleasure for the girl was in not being able to move. He produced a long rope that they had used before from under the bed, already tied to one side, and flung it across her midriff and then secured it tightly at the other side. The rope would burn if she moved.
"You're at the stake, Gert, near the fire. Okay? The crowd is quiet, and I'm your boy-man. Come for me, Gert, come for me."
He stood in front of her and she watched him hold the doll before his face. She noticed then that he or the manufacturer (she suspected it had been Larry) had made finger-size holes where a girl's pleasure holes should be. She felt a bit ridiculous and, in fact, not sexually aroused anymore at all. She didn't want to put a damper on Larry's enthusiasm but this was one thing she was sure wasn't going to work at all. And looking at him and his soft dangling prick she wasn't so sure of his enthusiasm either. Maybe he had made all this up because the trip hadn't netted anything. She often felt he had done that, but even if he had she in turn had to admit the results were always very gratifying.
Until now, she reminded herself.
She took her point of focus away from Larry's shriveled penis and looked up at his face. Lord, he was actually kissing the doll like it was a live thing. Putting his tongue in her life-like ears, he held the pliant doll against him, grasping it firmly by the buttocks. His tongue ran down her neck into the hollow of her shoulder blades and she saw his saliva dripping onto and down the arm. He reached one hand up and massaged the blade. "Wait until you feel my jism there," he whispered. "Hotly it spews down your arms and onto your fingers, sticky, sweet jism in your hands, your hands that will hold my cock and feel its pulsing hardness to the warmth of your touch."
And suddenly, she-Gert-began to feel him. Impossible, since he was nowhere near her, but His hands had worked down to those of the doll's-hers?-now and brought one of its hands around to his now-growing, expanding prick. Holding it there, he massaged himself with it while inserting a finger in the rear of the doll, impaling Gert herself with that far-away finger as he ground it in and out, in and out. Involuntarily, her sphincters contracted and she could feel her vaginal muscles quiver with the sensation. She imagined Larry's massive fingers inside her, her hand on his cock, fingers scissoring the root of that cock and cupping the full, taut, tight-skinned balls. She 'could feel Larry's knuckles against her buttocks as his index finger rammed into her to its full length. She wanted to tear her eyes away from Larry and the doll but couldn't, could only hear herself praying that he would go deeper, deeper into her so that the finger would come out of her mouth where she was sure it was reaching. She could feel her anal juices flowing, a feeling that never failed to surprise her. Dripping onto her ass, onto the bed, the pool of juices flowing, a feeling that never failed to surprise her. Dripping onto her ass, onto the bed, the poo of juices that she would be lying in, that was hers. She loved feeling the wetness beneath her, squirming in it and remembering his rubbing it into her. Into her pores, her skin, under her armpits Juices mixed, hot, sticky, sweet-tasting.
And now he was holding the doll facing her, his one arm stretched across the doll's-her-breasts and massaging the nipple of the left one. Gert felt the familiar tingling sensation as the nipples of her own breasts grew taut, awaiting the nipping bites she knew were going to-had to-come. Her body responded to the movement of his hands on the clitoral area of the doll, the sweeping downward stroke with the tip of his index finger continuing with the flat of his hand resting on the clit while his fingers penetrated her wetness. She began to squirm, feeling the coarse biting of the rope across her torso. She didn't care, she had to move, to meet the fingers, to make them go deeper and deeper into her, to make them touch the walls of her insides. She felt the palm grinding slowly on her mound, and ground with it; sensing his hot cock dripping onto her stomach, she moaned and waited for the other hand to caress her inner thighs. The inner thighs that were screaming with each touch....
And where was the tongue now-the tongue that burned inside her on her skin, in her ears, around her teeth and flicked across and hugged her own tongue? God, it was there, now grazing her body while hands grasped her buttocks slowly, toyingly, teasing with fingers poised at the opening. Tensing, she waited for the penetration, tightening her muscles, which only made it harder for the entry but she couldn't help it. She loved that entry but was scared each time, scared it would hurt.
The finger was in her now, twisting, turning, going deeper and deeper into her, ramming home. Shove harder, harder, she wanted to scream and waited for the thrust. She was straining now against the rope, pulling at the straps that held her down.
Her breasts ached to be touched, to feel the circular hard motion of pressing hands. Looking at Larry through glazed eyes she saw his now fully erect cock passing between the legs of the doll, his hands up the asshole. With the thrust of his cock she could feel herself begin to come, that familiar slow-mounting unbearable tingling tension that started from deep inside her, threatening to burst out. She tensed her vaginal muscles, knowing that the tension would both heighten and delay the orgasm. She was ready now but, as always, afraid she would lose it if it came too fast. She wanted fingers on her, all over her, her fingers, Larry's, anyone's. And she wanted a cock, poised at her entrance, then slowly making its way into her, centimeter by centimeter, until just the tip was in. A pause while her cunt lips licked and squeezed it, familiarized themselves with the fat red hotness of it. Slowly she could feel the root begin to grow in her, filling her insides until she thought she couldn't breathe, pressing against her on all sides, squeezing out her eyeballs and brains, coming out her mouth. Coming in her mouth and her cunt at the same time.
And she knew that was what was happening now. Larry's tool, his throbbing, pulsing tool, was on the doll's cheeks now, grazing her face, dripping on the lips, waiting for her tongue to dart out to lick up the jism that he knew she loved. Running her tongue over her numbed lips she could taste the sweet stickiness. Drawing it inside of her she felt his cock come with it, thrusting its way down into her throat. She sucked hard on the tip, running her tongue down its length, using her tongue to push it against the roof of her mouth, then with her mouth sitting on it she began the slow rhythmical sucking she had learned was the best way.
In my mouth, come in my mouth, her mind shouted while her cheeks swelled to receive the hot spewing come that she wanted so badly. She could feel his balls on her chin and she wanted them inside her too. She wanted to feel them drain inside her, to feel the molten liquid run down her throat, to savor it in her mouth, to cover his prick with it. With the taste and the feel of him still inside her mouth she now felt his mouth on her cunt, his tongue knifing deep into her, she sat that moment savoring then the fingers in her rear.
Three cocks? Yes, she had three cocks in her and her body was smothered with the weight and heat of a writhing, pleasure-taking animal biting at her, licking her, grinding heaving thrusting deeper and deeper until she could feel her body screaming as it reached up to meet the force head on, convulsively shuddering, her mind straining to cope with the cataclysmic turmoil building broiling boom-booming in her loins with the swirling-feeling taking over, the crest riding her and not she riding it as she surrenders to the all-encompassing folding-in tremors growing until the dam breaks and she takes over, she riding the crest now, peaking surfing until The crashing explosion was one which unified mind and body.
Moaning softly, writhing-riding, the tidal waves wash over her as she slowly, reluctantly awaits the final tremor to pass through her innards. Then comes the serenity and peace to bathe her in the euphoric glow which defined all that was good in the universe.
She opened her eyes. Larry stood over her, the doll unseen, gone, forgotten as he stood astride her body. He grinned and she saw his hand was moving, stroking his own cock. Of course, she thought, he would need She quickened again, surprised to feel the excitement rising within her. Grasping his legs, she tried to pull him down to her but he laughed and, leaning down toward her face, gave one. final stroke to his purple-veined, pulsing penis, giving up the hot, creamy, white come that she had been sure had been discharged eons ago just now inside her. It bathed her face as he buried his head in her breasts. Reaching up, his fingers smoothed the milkiness onto her eyelids and down her cheeks, into her mouth. As she felt his hardness on her stomach, he pulled away and rested his weight on his extended arms, his cock barely touching her navel.
He laughed. "It was good. You did fine, Gert, just fine."
CHAPTER TWO
Larry left the following Thursday for Denmark.
Friday morning about eight, Gert listlessly looked out her kitchen window. The street outside their suburban home was quiet, except for the occasional hum of a car slowly moving along the asphalt, the driver watchful at this hour for schoolchildren making their way to their places of study. Down to the left she saw the white truck of the milkman come to a halt in front of the Jefferson's house. Four kids there. Lots of milk to deliver. She and Larry had no children yet. They'd talked about it, but neither were ready. No children, and Larry hated milk. Hence no milkman ever came to their door.
Gert thought about that. The thought was one element among several others, the others having driven her from her bed at an unusually early hour for her, the others having to do with Gert herself and her capabilities to grow intellectually and Crap. Pure crap. Be honest with yourself girl. It had to do with what Larry had said. It was the night before last. They both' were slowly sipping kahlua on the rocks, their favorite after-sex liqueur, a drink that added to the feeling of being fully satisfied, body and soul and flesh and bone.
He had been talking about his job. He sold and oversaw service on electric power generators for the international division of his company, but that wasn't what he had been discussing with Gert. He was afraid-deathly afraid-that the company might offer him a promotion that would keep him home all the time instead of his present one that kept him country-hopping at least one week out of every two on an average.
"If s not that I don't like being home, Gert. You know that. It's just what I think our marriage would be missing if-well, you know. A marriage needs freshness, newness, to keep it from going stale. Without these trips of mine-"
Without these trips of his. Well, he was right, wasn't he? Weren't those trips important to their marriage-and the "souvenirs" he brought back each time?
Larry had presented it that way over eighteen months ago when he had returned from Somaliland where one of his business associates had introduced him to a young but very experienced girl "to entertain him during his stay." He had come home from that trip surprising Gert with his first try to enter her behind. Stomach to stomach had been their bedroom mainstay with an occasional-very occasional-mouth-to-cock-and-cunt variation. He had primed her first by introducing a well-Vaselined finger, slowly, gently into her rectum while they were screwing in the conventional way. She was startled at first and tried to move his hand, but he stopped her with a forceful thrust into her cunt that made her forget the other arena of interest. It had taken over a half hour of gentle prodding before he told her what was next. He rolled her onto her stomach and relaxed her by running his cock down her back, separating her buttocks as he came to the crack, grazing his penis over and into the ravine teasingly, coaxingly, knowingly. She had seen him reach for the jar of Vaseline and wondered briefly what its purpose was. As he slathered the yellow, greasy substance onto the full length of his maleness she started to protest. Playfully pushing her face into the pillow, he daubed a fingerful around the anal entrance. He massaged her buttocks until he could feel the tension leaving her body ebbing, draining until she was as ready as she was going to be.
Poised over her he reached his hands under her stomach and gently lifted the lower part of her body to receive him. He toyed with her breasts with one hand and stimulated her clitoris with the other. His mouth drew slow circles on her back, his cock drawing closer to its target. When she was about to come from the clitoral stimulation he rammed it into her, thrilled with the shrieking cry that he. knew so well. She had come the instant he entered her.
The ramming, reaming cocking he had given her that night had netted eight big ones-eight orgasms in just about that many thrusts.
Later they talked about where he had gotten the idea, and he gingerly explained how he could not refuse the well-meant hospitality of his business associate.
"Seems it would have been tantamount to telling him I didn't want to do business with him," was the way he put it and, although she was more than slightly jealous, she had to admit that she had liked the end product (pun intended) and further rationalized that he'd never see the girl again anyway so it was really no skin off her back, so to speak. Subsequent trips and experiences she asked no questions about, though Larry usually explained in detail how he had acquired the knowledge. She was no longer jealous of the black, yellow, slim, big-breasted, small-boned, wide-hipped, or whatever sexually arousing females that she knew occupied her husband's evenings and sometimes weekends. The souvenirs were most welcome.
But now, the importance he was attaching to those trips bothered her. "Without those trips of mine-" he'd said.
She had interrupted him. "Other couples don't seem to have to import all sorts of foreign ideas to their bedroom. Don't get me wrong, Larry, I'm not knocking it. God, how could I ever do that? But other couples-"
"Other couples-well, some couples-are highly imaginative in their own right. But it takes imagination on the part of both partners, Gert."
There was a note in his voice she didn't think she liked.
"Larry, are you saying you're dissatisfied with me?"
"Gert, I'm not saying anything of the kind. All I mean is-well, let's face it. If it weren't for those trips of mine and the ideas I get from them, all you'd ever be doing is laying on your back all the time."
All you'd ever be doing. ... Crap!
But it was true, wasn't it? Ever since their marriage, he had been the one to suggest, to try, to innovate. She, on the other hand....
God, was there something wrong with her.
But how was a housewife supposed to expose herself to new ideas, anyway? Larry's new ideas came from a variety of circumstances, a variety of women, a variety of gimmicks like that doll. Where A flash of white caught her eye across the street. The milk truck had moved to the house across the way. She looked at her own reflection in the door window-pane and ran a hand through her hair to smooth it. She realized she was wearing nothing but a flimsy thigh-length nightgown tied together at the front. She smiled at her reflection hesitantly.
A milkman?
How trite, how really cliche.
But think about it. She really couldn't run around town trying to pick up interesting types of men in order to gain interesting types of experiences. But the home, the typically, oh-so-typically suburban home, was a place to which many interesting types of men came as part of the normal routine. Well, they were potentially interesting. And the normal routine might well become abnormal. And the things they brought with themes, think about it. But think fast because there he was now, coming away from Ferguson's house across the street and She opened the door. "You, there-milkman!" she called.
And she knew that this was going to be the start of something.
As he stumbled into the kitchen, she wasn't sure she had picked the right man to start with. He was the frumpiest looking milkman she had ever seen. Not that she'd spent an awful lot of time looking at milkmen. But this one didn't have much hair, and he was short enough so that she could examine each square inch of his sparsely thatched dome. And his middle hung over his belt in a way that matched the manner his jowls hung over his collar. He looked to be in his mid-forties, and for a moment Gert had a real doubt. She dismissed it. The noble experiment had to begin somewhere, sometime, with someone, here and now; he would have to do.
I'm Mrs. Ross," she said, toying with the drawcord that kept the front of her nightdress together. "I need a few things."
"Y-yes'm!" he said, his face seeming to change colors.
She opened the refrigerator door, standing between him and the light so that he would be sure to get a full view of her fullness. She bent over, feeling the bottom hem of the nightie move upward on the base of her buttocks. "Let's see now," she said.
"Gulp," he said.
She straightened and turned to him, but not before she'd unfastened the draw cord and allowed the front of the nightie to separate.
"Gulp," he repeated. Again his face changed color.
"I think ... yes, I think I'd like something really special this morning. Twelve quarts of cream. Yes, they will certainly help me get out of my despondent mood. Do you think you could run along like a good boy and get them for me?"
She brought her elbows into and under her breasts and squirmed at the pressure.
"Tw-rw-tw-"
"Twelve quarts of cream."
His face colored settled on something between crimson and purple. She stepped toward him. Her extended breast nipples almost touched his lips.
"What's your name, milkman?"
"G-G-Gil, ma'am. Gil."
"Well, Gil, I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry. I'm simply aching all over for ... for that cream of yours."
"Y-yes'm."
He backed out of the kitchen, almost tripping over the doorsill. Turning, he started to his truck at a walk, then picked the speed up till it was a fat-bouncing, jogging trot. Gert swallowed. He was not Adonis, no Larry, that was for sure. But, she reminded herself, the noble experiment....
The cartons jiggled nervously in their carrying case as Gert smiled a combination reassurance-invitation smile.
"Now, Gil, I'm going to take a milk bath," she said. "Or I should say cream bath. You will carry that upstairs for me."
Pocketing a wrapped quarter-pound stick of butter, she moved behind him. Gently nudging his rear with her two outspread hands, she edged him toward the staircase in the next room. His stiff-legged gait told Gert that he wasn't yet sure he was anxious to comply. But he would be, she thought, he would be.
At the top of the stairs she directed him toward the bathroom off the main bedroom. A double gulp told her he had deposited the container and re-entered the bedroom. She stood before him, her robe draped across a bedside chair. Slowly turning full circle on the balls of her feet, she half closed her eyes, and ran her fingers through her hair, across her breasts and down her stomach and hips. She paused, facing him full now, hearing his heavy breathing. She started a circular motion with her fingers, moving them closer and closer to the wet lips of her front entrance, then stopping, cupping her hands as if offering him a drink.
"Would you like to help me with my problem, Gil?"
"I-er, I don't know if-"
"If you can? Why, Gil, I've watched you for days. Really I have-weeks, if you must know. And I know you're just the man I need. Need, Gil. Come fill my need."
He took a hesitant step toward her, she having to make up the rest of the distance between them. When there was no more distance between them, she moved slowly around him so that her two cupping hands could not massage both herself and him.
"You're perspiring, Gil! Why, of course! It's those clothes you're wearing. How do you expect to accomplish anything in those clothes?"
But she had felt that hard thing with her fingers. It was a big, bulging thing, not long, but fat, thick, squat like the rest of him. And shuddering, also like the rest of him. She'd have to act a bit faster than she wanted to.
With a shove from her, he toppled and his back bounced on the bed. His mouth opened to say something but she was upon him before the word or cry or wail got up to his throat. 'I'll help you, Gil-with the clothes-but then it's your turn. Remember that."
Moving to his side, she began unbuttoning the shirt buttons beneath his already opened jacket with her left hand. She released his cock from its fabric prison and moved both his pants and jockey shorts over his hips. He took part in the business now, kicking his shoes off with his feet. Her hands had continued working his pants downward, breathing hard as she focused on his maleness. She had been right about it. Not overly long-but the thickness of it! A veritable feast.
She pulled him to a sitting position better to remove his jacket and shirt, at the same time moving her head down the length of his body until her mouth had reached cock level. He shuddered as she gave him a flickering tongue and then slowly moved upward along his body, mounting him at face level. Mouths joined, she trapped his prick between her legs. She squeezed his prick and squirmed atop him. Her tongue exploring the insides of his mouth, until suddenly it was no longer just she doing him but he tongue-pushing back into her, grasping her back with his hands, pushing upwards with his prick trying to insert it, struggling.
Abruptly she slid down him, her head at his chest level, her opening past his throbbing cock which now lay pinned between her belly and his. He was ready now for the next stage.
"Gil, I'm a girl who likes to be played with first. Do you know what that means?"
His hands on her back tightened, trying to pull her upwards again, but he didn't have the leverage. "Pl-please, I-"
She looked at him hotly and moved her belly teasingly on his cock. "Oh, we're going to fuck ail right, don't you worry about that. We're going to fuck like crazy. You want that, don't you, Gil? You want to fuck me like crazy, don't you?"
"S-sure I d-do, I do."
She lifted herself from him. "Well, then, first you're going to have to interest me-the way a milkman should, the way only a milkman can, really. I want you to tell me a story, Gil, about how the milkman makes his rounds,"
"Huh?" His expression was one of confusion.
"Like this, Gil."
She rolled onto her back beside him. "Now watch the fingers. I want you to tell me all about how in the early morning the milkman pads on quiet feet, slipping in and out of houses. Slipping in and out of his truck. Slipping...." Her finger actions matched each verb.
"See, Gil. Make your fingers do the talking. Try it now." She took his hand to replace her own on her body.
He nodded dumbly, but his hand and quivering voice picked up the thread of the story from where Gert had left off.
"Uh, well ... he slips in and out of the houses, . just like you said-is that okay?-uh...." He thought for a moment, then started again: "But first he has to ... to go to the dairy! Right, he has to go to get the milk in the first place. Uh...."
"Does the dairy have a back entrance?" Gert prompted.
"A back entrance? Well, yeah, but-oh, you mean your-"
She smiled patiently at him. "It's your story, Gil, but a back entrance at that dairy would be sort of nice at this point."
"Well, okay, but I never did that before-I mean, with a girl's-er, rec-rec-rectum."
"Say asshole, Gil. It's easier."
"Er, yeah-"
"Gil, you've stopped making your rounds!" His hands jerked into motion. "He slides in and out of-"
"Gil, is that all you do-slide? One would think milkmen do other interesting things like prod and search and ram and lift. Now get to work!"
Very rapidly Gil went to work:
"Uh, he goes to the dairy-he goes into the back entrance of the dairy and searches and searches for his orders for the day. 'Ram, ram' he goes through the back door searching, hunting-and then he gathers up the bottles and places each of them in carry-all cases. One, two, into the case, three four five-uh-oh, this one doesn't fit, have to jam it."
Gert almost cried "Yippee!" as her student was now catching on. She almost cried "Mercy!" when she felt his three fingers enter her rear, including the thumb-and jam he did. And what followed was just fine, just fine. She learned all about how the milkman loaded thirty-four delicious cases of milk and cream, nine bottles to a case-three hundred and six strokes-some in the cases behind the milkman, some to the front of him. All the time his trembling cock brushed lightly against her outer thigh, dripping hot sticky cream, softly lathering her.
At a verbal pause Gert stretched an arm across the bed, reaching into the nightie pocket for the butter she'd brought upstairs with her.
"You haven't said anything about the butter," she said, holding the stick aloft as she unwrapped it. "Nice, warm greasy dairy's best butter. As a reward for your story, let me tell you about warm yellow butter. This butter, this particular stick, is so nice."
She nudged him over onto his back, his pudgy prick standing at a forty-five degree angle to his body. Grasping the thick root with the hand that held the butter, she squeezed, wrapping the butter around the prong, evenly distributing the oozing yellowness up and down and around the length of his throbbing shaft. She worked it then with long languorous strokes, the friction of her hands on his hot cock melting the mass, dripping it onto his stomach. That thick hot cock. Ah! And Gert had decided where she wanted it-if it would fit.
"You've never fucked a woman up the ass, have you?" she asked in a whisper, bringing her face over his, her breasts pressing into his writhing torso. She knew the answer from his earlier remark, but the gleam in his eye told her that he was anxious to give it a try. Pivoting on his body, her behind facing him now, but not stopping the firm sliding insistent motion of her right hand on his swelling, bursting, too, her left hand supped his taut, full balls and slipping greasy fingers down his crack, lathering the distance with the melting butter. His moan was delicious to hear.
Then, without missing a stroke, she sat on him, impaling herself on the greasy oozing buttered stick.
The entry was easy-much easier than she would have thought: She could feel the cock already beginning to expand to fill the walls of her upper rectum. A pound of flesh was squeezing into her tight receptive ass, melting the stick, until she wanted to scream in ecstasy. Her sphincters contracted, giving his tool an expelling ride outward, but he caught her to him and thrust deeper into her again and again until she felt herself getting dizzy from the effort of keeping her head in the air.
Grasping his hips, she rolled herself over onto the bed, holding him in place. She was about to lower her body flat onto the bed when he lifted her torso with both hands using her cunt as hoist for his petard-like fingers, ramming into her rear with all his force. He rammed and rammed and ground and drove into her with his might until she felt she couldn't stand the frenzy building within her. Ah, for someone who'd never pronged an asshole before, he was doing-ah!
His hands worked furiously at her front, his reaming rod pierced her rear, his balls against her buttocks, the weight of his body grinding her breasts into the soft-hard surface of the bed. Writhing and moaning with the pain-pleasure of his swift-climbing thrusts she felt the storm fury mounting. Her upper limbs numb, her lower ones tingling, quivering with the sensation of rough hands kneading, entering, sliding into her, her muscles pressing to keep them imprisoned within her, fighting the natural squeezing of her anal muscles, trying to maintain a rhythm.
Front back front back squeeze relax squeeze. She was afraid of losing some of it, any of it, front or back or back or front, until her mind forgot to think but numbly-calmly accepted the explosion that came from within him and passed into her and moved up upward toward that approaching plateau which with one more grasp would be hers and she grasped it and held onto it-the place that said it all, that was it all. And she laughed, a from-the-womb laugh that told her she had reached her goal safely and surely.
"That was ... was good!" Gil decided. He was now standing by the side of the bed looking down at Gert, who in turn rested upright, her back against two fluffed-up pillows. She inhaled deeply on her cigarette and smiled back at him.
"You liked it?" she asked.
"I sure did, but there's just one thing."
"Namely."
"Well, all this stuff we been doing. I just realized
... well, that I ... I mean, we ... haven't done it regular." He was looking down at her cunt. "You know what I mean."
Her smile broadened, but her eyes focused on his limp, at-rest phallus. "I know what you mean, but are you sure?...." She let her voice trail off.
He too looked down at his tool. "I don't know. I'd like to, really, but I really don't know if I can."
At which point Gert remembered all that cream in the bathroom. She jumped lightly from the bed. "But I know that I can. Gil, follow me."
"All this lovely cream," she said when they were both in the other room. "Good quality stuff?"
He looked at her questioningly as she placed the plug snugly into the bottom of the tub. "Good? Sure. We take pride in-"
I'm sure you do. But if it's not the best, it might not work for what I have in mind. Here, let me take that now."
And her left hand grasped his limp maleness.
He shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure-"
"But I am. You just watch now."
And he did, as by his cock she led him closer to the tub, until hand and cock were beyond its edge, gently pulling him so that finally to keep his balance he had to place his hands on the tiles on the other side.
"Perfect, now we won't spill a drop," Gert purred, as she slowly poured the first quart of cream over his dangling prick, rubbing some of it into his flesh as she did so. With appreciative eyes he watched her fingers play in the white liquid that dripped from him into the tub below.
"Isn't this nice?" she asked him, without waiting for an answer, continuing: "Milk baths are supposed to be restorative in nature. Let's see if it can restore a little life to that juicy meat of yours."
And, sure enough, with her carefully massaging fingers and all:
Quart number two brought a couple of throbs and a sharp intake of breath from Gil.
Quart three elicited a tightening from just over the scrotum.
Four and five expanded the prick to almost full size.
Seven had the tool at maximum readiness.
Eight brought some come-juice to the fore, while the cock's owner squirmed as if trying to cut himself loose.
Nine and a peck from her lips on his bare buttocks brought a sudden violent throb from the tool in her hand.
Checking Visually at ten and another throb, she saw that some of Gil's own cream had joined that of his dairy's.
Eleven brought an eyes-closed moan and Twelve Dropping the empty carton on the floor with its eleven predecessors, Gert grasped his cock with all ten of her fingers and stepped around him into the tub.
"Ready?" she asked.
She did not need his eager nod to tell her that he was. With surprising agility he was in the tub beside her, following her down to a squatting position. "Now, Gil, on your back. I'm going to fuck the bejesus out of that creamy cock of yours."
A moment's indecision came over his face; then he was down, buttocks sliding on the slippery porcelain bottom of the tub. From her still squatting vantage point Gert looked with pleasure at him. His body had displaced just enough of the cream so that, besides his head which rested on the tiles above the tub, only his thick prick ascended from the white fluid like a pylon in a milk-white sea. It was a darling scene.
"Yum," she said, and, slipping her crotch back over and past his knees, she dove down mouth first at his cock.
"Oooooo," Gil said as she made contact. "That's good."
"But this will be better," she replied, and squoosh! went the cream as she lifted herself upward and forward, then downward and backward to impale herself on the upright stake.
Squoosh! went the cream again. "Oooo!" went Gil.
"Ohhh!" went Gert. The first taste of the rigid thickness was delightful to her cunt which, as it moved upward and downward along the rod's length, created waves that slapped rhythmically against the sides of the tub and that rolled pleasurably over her back and buttocks and into the crack of her ass and-oooo!
As he was pumping now too, meeting her down-pushes with up-pushes, and as they pounded each other's flesh the cream, the cream, the beautiful cream, was squooshing and splashing and oozing and caressing, and all was at a frantic peace in this wonderful world of bare-assed bathing.
"Yuggubah!" Gil cried. Or something like that, Gert wasn't sure. But "yuggubah" was as good a word as any to describe what she was feeling. Ah, this cream-what an idea. Water was too-well, watery-and milk was, too. But the creamy, creamy cream that squooshed and splashed and slathered and slid and slipped and slimed and stuck and-yuggubah!
Around her inner thighs, between her breasts, but especially around his tool as they plunged their lower selves together and apart, the lubricious lubrication seemed to rise in temperature-or was it hers, rather than the tub's or the cream's, which was rising? And before she had a chance to really consider the question seriously, much less answer it, she had the distinct impression that it didn't really matter very much. Because Socking it, sucking it, shucking it, shocking it-she rose up, her hands planted on the tub bottom:
Y-y-y-yu YUG-GU-BAHHHHHHHHH. In her ecstasy, she fell upon the mass of soft flesh beneath her, rolling, tossing, thrashing, coming, coming, all come already and still rolling tossing thrashing-still?
She lifted up again with curiosity.
His face broke the surface of the liquid and spewed out a mouthful. Fortunately he had the sense of etiquette to turn his head first. As he gasped for air, Gert thought to herself how really funny he looked. But it was time to be solicitous. After all, he had done his part and rather nicely at that. She decided to tell him so.
"Gil, that was simply marvelous. I've never had a fuck like that before. Really."
"Me neither," he said. He paused to catch his breath. "Re-really."
She smiled at him as she helped him to a sitting position. "Well, what now? Do you have any other good ideas?"
"Other-? Urp! Well, I'd sure like to. Yeah. But ... I gotta go-to work, I mean." As they stood together, Gert saw his face looked anxious.
She nodded. "I can understand that, but don't you think you ought to shower first?"
His look now was One of distrust. "Shower here, with you?"
She laughed. "I see. You'd like a little privacy. All right. I'll use the other shower." She stepped out of the tub. "Just pull the plug and all that sticky cream will go away and you can get clean as a whistle."
She skipped lightly out of the master bath and down the hall toward the other upstairs shower, dripping white cream along the wood floor as she did so.
Gil, she thought to herself. Gil of the thick prick. Before he left he'd probably ask her when he could drop in again. She shook her head. Never, is what she ought to tell him. But Never burn your bridges, Gert girl. Especially nice thick ones.
No, she'd tell him that when ever he was passing by on his early morning rounds, if the kitchen light was on....
Sure. She never got up that early normally, and whenever she did want a little diversion, on would go the light. Easy. The hot little old kitchen light.
Hot?
She stopped dead in the hall. Lord? She should have mentioned to Gil that the hot water faucet in the shower was a tricky thing, that unless you did it just so, a stream of scalding Her train of thought was broken off by his agonized scream.
CHAPTER THREE
Seven days after Gil, a naked Gert waited in the bedroom for her husband. For days she had been full of a suppressed excitement. Now she had a "souvenir" for him, but she wasn't quite sure how to go about presenting the idea of her "trips." She recalled some of the teasing he had given her about what suburban housewives did during the day when they had first moved to their community. But, then, he did issue her that challenge, right?
They had this ritual. He would tell her what day he was coming home but not the exact hour. She had taken to being propped up in bed, naked, ready for him whatever hour he arrived. She ate waiting for him, read waiting for him, watched TV. She sometimes fell asleep waiting for him. Waiting for the surprise she knew would be coming. But tonight she had something as well.
She waited with neither a book nor TV tonight. And after a time she dozed. In a state of semi-wakefulness she reached to pull up the sheet she was sure had been covering her. Her hands groped toward the end of the bed until she was half sitting. She sensed another presence in the room and was immediately fully awake, accustoming her eyes to the glaring light that struck them.
Larry was standing at the side of the bed, gazing down at her. The only thing he wore was a smile. And his marvelous massive erection.
Or that's what Gert's eyes took in at first. Eagerly she reached up to embrace him. Her hands grazed his hips. They touched cold, hard leather. A thin band encircled each hip. Tracing the leather to its origin she discovered a rigid sheath over her husband's phallus.
"Surprise!" he cried, pulling her to a standing position in front of him on the bed. He buried his face in her breasts. "How do you think you'll like this?" Placing the hardness against her legs he gave a wry chuckle.
Suddenly she was wide awake.
"Do you really think you need that?"
"No, but it is an added attraction." He fondled the priapus, still holding it against her inner thighs. "Feel it. It feels like alabaster, doesn't it?"
She reached down and wound her fingers around the huge, gouging tool. Yes, alabaster. Cold, hard as stone, slightly rippled yet smooth to the touch. Exciting to touch-like a touchstone almost, she thought. She wondered briefly what it actually was made of.
He dropped her to the bed by suddenly folding her at the knees. Stretching on top of her he planted the dildo between her legs just under her opening.
It was a strange sensation to Gert. The cold hardness between her legs contrasted sharply with her vivid memories of his own hot throbbing tool. But it was not an unpleasant contrast. The firm rigidity of the spear, the hugeness of it felt unreal but fantastic. It stretched down to reach into the crack between her buttocks. He moved it then, slowly, up and down the shaft, lubricating it with the creaminess already seeping from her vagina.
"Not much of a story behind this or my other surprise, but I think you'll enjoy it, nevertheless," Larry said. Fondling her breasts now, he continued the long, languid strokes.
Gert no longer felt the rod cold but warm, almost hot, the friction building a heat enveloping her body, penetrating deep inside her, boiling her loins. She wanted to feel that massiveness inside her. She told him.
"You will-soon enough." He raised himself up from her, reaching behind him to unstrap the piece from his body.
He wrapped one strap around his wrist, pulling it tight. The organ stood at a right angle to the inside of his wrist.
Gert laughed. She had always been amazed at the sexual dexterity he had with his fingers, but to see their potential use magnified like this was something else again!
Larry now was stretched full length on her body, his own rather limp organ poised near her mouth. She drew it in with a long sucking motion until she felt the shaft lengthening, bulging, reaching to fill her mouth. As she was lipping and tonguing the hardened tip she felt the stone-like spear entering her. Larry was toying with it at the entrance, circling her vaginal opening with its now-again hard coldness. She tried to suck it into her but her muscles couldn't get a grasp on the glossy surface.
He worked the massive tool from her entrance to her clitoris to her anus. There he would linger too, as though to shove the hardness in her hole. She tensed each time, waiting for the heaving thrust. Waiting for the stone shaft to pierce her rear, to tear her insides. To split her innards. The beautiful pain didn't come.
Instead the fake cock was fucking the entrance to her cunt-just the entrance-until she thought she would go mad. She wanted that fullness, that hardness inside her. She pushed against it, forgetting Larry's cock was even in her mouth. He pulled the stone away each time. With one heaving determined thrust toward the tool she screamed.
Larry had pushed to meet her thrusts. The granite priapus tore through her body meeting the stone wall of her womb. It rammed and ground at that stone wall, knocking it down brick by brick. Her vagina ached with the seemingly expanding, gouging, widening shaft grinding inside her. She sucked furiously at the prick in her mouth, sucking hard to gear herself for the oncoming thrusts.
His wrist banged against her clitoris with every shove. She arched her back, dug her heels into the bed better to meet the pile-driving, pounding prick that was smashing crashing tearing into her body. She twisted and turned to meet it head on, to feel the wrist grind against her burning, throbbing clit.
Then there was something else. She felt the thrust of fingers piercing her ass. Her mouth opened, gasping, panting, pulling his balls into her mouth, swallowing the hot cock's jism as she did so. She was frantic. Writhing, turning, moaning, lifting herself to parry the jabs, to somehow grind that stony hardness to a pulp.
Larry's fingers up her rear were motionless. He didn't have to move them. She impaled herself on them with each heave of her body. She felt herself coming down on them harder and harder as he created a crazed rhythm of slamming the dildo into her on the upbeat. She strove to catch up with him but he wouldn't let her. She'd pounce hard on his fingers, trying at the same time to meet the shove of the prick-prick? dildo? It!
A tattoo counte rbeat was being played on and in her ass cunt clit. Her tongue worked furiously over his cock with a haphazard frenzy of point counterpoint with his thrusts.
Her body ached, her mind wailed, the tension-pain-pleasure beat her insides, assaulted her, dizzied her. Her fingers grasped and gripped his full buttocks, tearing-beating-massaging them.
God, his tongue now licking the insides of her outstretched thighs, the muscles jumping twitching spasming at the sensation of the warm wetness which spanned the expanse of sensitive alive skin. Her fingers pierced his ass sending a shudder through his body, making him lose for a beat or two the cockeyed rhythm he had set up.
He started fucking her seriously then, his bottom heaving over her face, his cock taking long sliding strides in and out of her mouth in rhythm with the hard grinding tool spearing her cunt. His fingers jabbed deep inside her, pushing against the rectum walls, forcing her to concentrate on the growing sensation of the orgasm building within her.
There was no one spot to focus on. The burning fire spread throughout her body in her mouth her rear her cunt. Her fingers ached with the same flames licking at the inside of her thighs, on her clit. Her head was a kaleidoscope of broiling, blazing colors circling her mind's eye, dotting the backs of her closed eyelids, branding her brain with frenetic spasmodic burstings of color.
Unconsciously she felt his prick tip expanding, the sides growing, too, and throbbing with the heavy beating of a pre-come stroke. Her throat muscles opened to receive his hot load and white blacked out the other dancing dervishes in her brain. He spewed the stream into her mouth. She shuddered-a body-enveloping, bed-shaking throb that rent her up the middle, her body exploding with three orgasms. Deep inside her two of them split the wall between her rectum and womb, the third outside as her clit reached up to contact the now fully baked grinding granite.
She sighed with the subsiding waves of receding tension, drifting into the deep satisfaction of a supernatural spentness. Almost unconsciously she felt her now-relaxed fingers slip from Larry's rear. She licked the last drops of come from his exiting cock as he slowly withdrew the Danish dildo from within her. His tongue gave a last flicker over her thighs and he rolled from her.
"Oh, wow," was Gert's only comment as she drifted off into a deep, sound sleep.
When Gert awoke, Larry was still sleeping, upside down in the bed and with the dildo still on the bed near his hands. Smiling to herself she got up quietly, stretched and hugged herself with the lazy contentment of a purring, satisfied cat.
She went into the bathroom to turn on the light. Peering into the shadowed bedroom she saw the luminous dials of the clock. 5:30-A.M. or P.M.? She wondered. Her stomach clock decided it must be A.M. She smiled. Larry never usually went to the office until the afternoon when he first got back from a trip. She smiled to herself again. His first night and morning were reserved for her pleasure. And his, too, of course.
His! With a jolt she remembered her surprise for Larry. She looked across the bed at him, still in a deep sleep. I'll let him sleep, she thought, and show him later tonight!
She looked at the dildo, took it up from the bed into her hand. Smooth. Cold now, but-big. Hard. She wondered if that massiveness would fit inside her anus. What would it feel like? She was sure Larry had plans on her finding out but-no, it would never fit. It would kill her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, tentatively bringing the stone to her buttocks. Lord, the tip won't even fit, she told herself. It's bigger and fatter than Gil even-and unyielding as well. Still, she reached under the bed where they kept the jar of Vaseline, turning onto her stomach as she did. Smearing the greasy yellow substance onto the piece she again brought it to the crack between her buttocks. With one hand stretching behind her she held the cheeks apart. Gingerly she poised the tip at her hole, trying to relax to make the entry easy. Relax. She knew that was the key, but usually in the excitement of the knowledge of the initial thrust she tensed, making the penetration painful and frightening.
Relax, relax, she whispered to herself, yet steeling her body for the spearing. She played a bit with the tip at the puckered opening. She slid the grease down the shaft and slathered her hole with it. At the silent count of three she pushed, sending the large shaft tip only slightly inside her. She let out a deep breath pushing her rear into the air to stretch the passage. Pulling her one arm up under her forehead, she rested, half afraid to try to go deeper. She tried to envision Larry's cock inside her, filling her cavity, probing deep, but the image was illusive. She pushed on the tool again from behind, feeling it expanding her insides with the penetration. It was half in, yet she could feel it as deep as Larry's cock ever got. It felt strange. She could sense the largest part still extending in the air over her as she took away her hand to reach for more Vaseline. She could feel the thing just standing straight up into the air. She laughed at the image. It must look....
"Oh-God!" she screamed. The massive shaft pounded into her body, crashing her stomach to the bed. "Oh, my God, my God," she moaned, trying to shake the haze of stars from her eyes and concentrate her whole being in an effort to shit out the block of stone now stuffing her entire insides.
She jerked her head, dimly seeing Larry's hand extended over her bottom. With unclear thoughts she realized that, of course, how else-and there was a flash of hatred she felt for him, for the shock of that thrust, for the pain enveloping her as she felt the tool begin to slowly slide from her and also felt the weight of his hand push it back in.
"You were relaxed. I heard you laugh. Don't look at me like that," Larry said to her. "I waited until you were relaxed."
She slumped forward onto her arms, unconsciously raising her rear into the air again. Slowly, unthinkingly, she began to enjoy the sensation of the massiveness inside her. Larry's now gentle priming of the pseudo-prick began to pleasurably excite her being. The pain was ebbing. She found herself responding to the motion, her own buttocks reaching to meet the barely perceptible movement.
"Don't move," Larry told her. "I'll be right with you."
She reached behind herself to hold the cock in, to combat the slithering slipping response to the tightening of her anal muscles.
He lay atop her, his stomach pressing the cock deep inside her, imprisoning it in her body. Lifting her bottom higher into the air he reached under her, his arms encircling her hips, meeting at the clitoris. "I brought something else back, too," he told her as he pushed to enter her cunt with his own now seemingly small tool of flesh.
"That old thing," she said.
He pressed his torso tight against her ass, shoving the dildo deep within her again and said, "This old thing has something new added."
And as he ground that old thing deeper within her she had a strange tickling sensation at the outside lips-reaching up and down the length of her opening. No, not tickling. Biting, Pinching, Stinging. She felt that every thrust of his body was stopped short. And with that stopping short this variety of sensations. Almost like-like teeth and finger tips nipping and darting from her rear to her clitoris.
It was-wild. If he hadn't been fondling her breasts with both hands she would have thought his hands were creating the sensations. But as talented as she knew his hands were, they had never done-this-before. She lost her sense of concentration with his repeated thrusts. With each forward motion the huge dildo ground into her rectum. She could feel both members inside her meeting at the midway point of the pseudo-prick.
His prick was fucking a prick. That was almost funny, and she would have laughed had it not been for those thousands of lips biting at her clitoral area.
Gropingly, her hands reached down underneath her upraised body to find his prick. She needed to hold on to something. The whirling crazy images floating in her mind had to have an anchor. Something firm to cling to.
She grasped the root of his cock as he began a deep thrust. Her hand was stabbed by a hundred fingertips. She quickly withdrew it, letting the stabbing hit her lips. Holding onto his thighs, guiding each thrust, making him heave harder, poundingly, grindingly, forcefully, she savored the assaults.
Suddenly the thousand lips, the stone pillar, the thrusting cock tore through her body with a wild explosion.
Her nails dug into his fleshy thighs to signal one final thrust, but he wasn't ready to stop. He slammed into her again and again, lengthening her mind-bending orgasm until she convulsed and collapsed under him completely spent. He whipped his cock from her, sending his erupting come splashing hotly down her back.
As he removed the dildo with one swift, painful pull, he rested it and himself on her back, smearing the come over the both of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following Saturday morning Larry left for Bombay. The girl he left behind was sulky, moody,, depressed-"a bitch!" Gert admitted to herself, kicking the electric dishwasher in the kitchen.
Not only had she not been granted an opportunity to try out her milk-bath-and-butter techniques on Larry-he'd spoiled that by wearing the living bejesus out of her, which really she shouldn't have been complaining about-but it now looked like she wouldn't get a chance to perfect those techniques. Not with Gil, she wouldn't.
Gil the man of milk turned to a man of jelly when Larry had opened the door to his furtive knock the morning after his return. The light was on, Larry's doing, and Gil had heeded the call, one which no doubt he'd looked for daily.
"Milk?" Larry roared. "Who the hell wants milk around here? I can't stand the stuff!"
Gert, who had been in the kitchen with Larry and seen Gil's knees begin to shake, interceded fast.
"Larry, darling, that's no way to talk. After all, what's wrong with a man trying to drum up a little trade? It's part of the free enterprise system. You aren't against free enterprise, are you?"
"Hell no, I'm just against milk." He leered at Gil. "Good man, do you know what W.C. Fields said about milk?"
Gil helplessly looked past Larry to Gert. "N-no. Does Mr. Fields live on this block?"
Gert laughed in spite of herself. For his part, Larry warned Gil that if he or any other purveyor of white fluid showed his face around his door, "I'll pull your goddamn udders off and stuff them up your goddamn nose!"
Well, Larry had always been like that in the mornings.
"Bitch!" Gert repeated, now nursing the toe that had kicked the dishwasher. What she needed was a good screwing.
Good screwing? God, what had she had just that morning, before Larry took off for the airport? A damned good screwing, that's what. Then what was it she needed?
She looked around her. There on the counter top was a piece of paper. Her shopping list, made out two days ago. Eggs, meat, flour, sugar, coffee, orange juice, et cetera.
That's what she needed. At least part of the cravings of her flesh would be satisfied by such. Twenty minutes later she climbed into the front seat of her Firebird and whipped out of the driveway. Her original intention was to take the ten-minute drive to the shopping plaza. There she could not only buy the food she wanted, but look over the latest thing in pants suits. Larry made good money and it was about time she started spending more of it. But she never got to the shopping plaza.
She was stopping for a stop sign when she saw the boy.
He had just pulled his bicycle up to the curb ahead of her. He was lifting some grocery bags out of the wire basket on the handle bars. He was about sixteen or seventeen. About six-feet-four, two hundred pounds, and all of it muscle-and, from the looks of him, hot blood. The weather was on the chilly side this morning, and he was wearing just a tee-shirt, those big, mountainous biceps rippling. His hair was blond and longish, but not too longish. His face-he turned and made Gert gasp-was that of a Nordic warrior. No, check that; the eyes were clear all right, but there was an upturn of the mouth that was a kind of sneer-smile that But why try to analyze? He was Leif Ericson's face on Hercules' body with the inner spirit of Attila the Hun. He was, in short, yummy.
But he was about sixteen or seventeen, Gert reminded herself. True, she answered, but then that is the age of highest sexual prowess, is it not?
Perhaps. But Gert, dating, after all After all, what?
Well, sweetie ... you wouldn't want to be known as a cradle robber, would you? So who's to know?
Gert, girl, you've got an excellent point there. Follow that carer, bike!
She crossed the intersection and parked. While she awaited his emergence from inside the house. God! What if some suburban bitch was beating her to it?-she checked her appearance in her car mirror. Fine, just fine. But she re-applied a little lip gloss. Ah! there he was, walking god-like down the walkway and climbing up on his silver charger bike, dammit! and We're off!
The grocery store was five blocks from Gert's house. She'd never known it was there until now. All goes to show, she thought to herself.. Support your neighborhood merchant and all that.
The store interior wasn't all that interesting, except for her main interest who, as she entered, was engaged in stacking some empty boxes in a corner at the rear of the store.
Without consulting her list she picked up a basketful of items at random from around the store including some ingredients for the sex session already starting to shape up in her mind. She didn't want him leaving for more deliveries until she had checked out.
She waited until he stepped to the counter. She went over to him, laying a slightly trembling hand on his shoulder.
"You're new here, aren't you?" she asked. It was not a very original opening line, but it was something.
He shook his head. "I've been here a couple, three months. Just Saturdays and Sundays. I go to college."
"How nice," Gert said. "And what time do you generally finish?" She added hastily, "Finish here, I mean, I won't be home until quite late, and I was wondering if you could make my delivery your last stop."
"Sure, ma'am. How is six o'clock? You're in the neighborhood?" She nodded yes. "Good, I live close by and can just go home from your house without coming back to the store."
She gave him the address and left. At home, she waited rather impatiently. But TV soap operas helped her pass the day-those plus her preparations. She had pulled her hair back into a pony tail and put on jeans and a tee-shirt. Her method was going to be rather direct and she didn't want any apparent age difference distracting him. Not that she was old but he was only sixteen or seventeen. She was sure he would put her in the older-woman category.
The off-the-kitchen bell rang and he stood there with the two boxes of groceries she had ordered. The, canned goods and six-packs of beer she had bought showed their heaviness by the strain on his arm muscles. She motioned him to a counter. The counter was in a corner. And so was he. All according to plan. Standing behind him, one arm reached to open a cupboard at his right. The other hand was reaching around to his left to grab a can of asparagus tips from one of the boxes. She pressed him against the waist-high counter, her stomach pushing into his buttocks. Her knee lifted-rubbed gently between his legs. She brought the asparagus around in front of him, in front of them, and arched her other arm-hand around to reach it. At the encircling contact, he shuddered slightly, and she noted with pleasure that those lovely biceps of his had grown thousands of goose bumps.
"Er, if you wait a second, I can move for you," he said.
Gert chuckled deep in her throat. 'I'll just bet you can. And I plan to take you up on that."
"Ma'am?"
She dropped the can to the counter and stepped back one pace, waiting for him to move back with her. As he did her hands darted down the front of him and found the main muscle that she was so curious about. She bet that rippled too. It did, along with the rest of him.
With a grinding, circling motion of her hips on his rear and a gentle stroking of his balls through the thick denim fabric of his jeans she put her first question to him:
"Now that I've introduced myself to Peter, here, what's your name?"
"Ru-dy," he said, his voice cracking between the two syllables. "Rudolph, actually."
"Rudolph," she repeated, putting on her throaty voice. Difficult name to make sound sexy, she reflected. It could have been worse, though. Try Throckmorton on for size some time. But her attention was wandering.
"Rudolph, I bet I know what you'd like right now."
"Mmmm?" he gurgled.
"A sandwich."
"Sandwich?" Again his voice-cracking split the word beautifully, the last syllable moving up the scale about two octaves.
"Of course. A penis sandwich." She thought about the term. Maybe the boy hadn't had Latin in school. "A cock sandwich. And aren't we luckyyou brought the bread and the cock with you, both of the essential ingredients."
Grasping his crotch firmly she turned him to her, not missing a beat in her stroking of his now-expanded tool. Pain and confusion crossed his face and he opened his mouth to speak.
He didn't, couldn't, as her tongue darted in the opening and she pulled his chest down to hers. Hesitantly his hands moved around to encircle her. Then suddenly his mouth began working hers furiously, probingly. Wow! He at least knew how to French kiss. She wondered what else he knew how to do.
As his fervor increased and his hands found their way over her body-roughly, but somehow knowingly-she reached up her hands, pulling at his big-buckled belt. He flinched as she pulled down the zipper and dropped his blue jeans to the floor. His mouth and hands left her as he made a frantic grab for his lost, denimed dignity.
His shorts were the jockey type, less easy to whisk one's hand into than the boxer style, but Gert's speed was sufficient to the task. The boy's frantic grab was stopped short when both his hands came to reflexive rest upon both of hers which had in turn come to rest on his throbbing male member.
"Now," she said, "about that sandwich of mine."
"M-m-madam, I'm not s-s-sure-"
"You're quite right, Rudolph. We shall require some bread, won't we? Without bread it wouldn't be a sandwich, would it? Whoever heard of a sandwich without bread? Did you?"
Her questions had been accompanied by massaging motions around and up and down his length, which felt like quite a handful but which she couldn't afford the luxury of eye-inspecting at the moment. She kept looking into his eyes, for fear he might at any instant decide to get scared and bolt out the door. But that cock of his felt great, and the wetness on the heel of her palm told her that her finger flexings were having their desired effect.
But he was just a baby, remember that. God, he might come just from her hand-motion-after all, how many jerkings-off by an expert had he ever experienced? Poor scared kid-of course! How stupid of you, Gert, he probably was afraid that "My husband," she said, and felt his cock start to soften, "my husband, who is away for the week, he says that there's no such thing as a sandwich without bread. Wouldn't you agree, Rudolph?"
So that was the problem! That cock of his suddenly sprang to life again!
"Sandwich without bread? N-no, ma'am-"
"All good sandwiches got bread, right?"
"R-right!" he blurted, and suddenly his arms made a grab for Gert.
But she was too fast for him. Stepping backward hurriedly, she looked at the red-tipped cock she'd just been working over. Christmas, what a piece! And bulging like it was ready to spill out everything right on the kitchen floor. She'd stopped just in time!
But he was hooked now, she knew. Her tone changed to one she thought of as appropriate to Concentration Camp Commandant:
"Then, Rudolph, get the bread, and bring it to the living room. At once, if you please. I like to eat-ah certain things in the living room."
Turning on her heel and giving her butt a provocative twitch, she led Rudolph and the bread into the darkened living room. She put on two lamps, low. and faced him. She almost laughed.
He stood there looking at her like an overgrown lap dog, with one hand clutching his jeans high, but not high enough (his extended prick inhibited movement upward), and the other hand clutching the loaf of bread like a squeezed football. , "Stop being silly," she told him. "Lay down on the couch. On your back," she added.
When, unsurely, he did as directed, she knelt beside the soft overstuffed couch and brought her mouth down to his, offering him her tongue, hoping to distract him from his uncertainty. Her hands worked his jeans downward again and she lingered over his freed cock until she knew it was finished growing. And grow it had done. She had been right. The muscle rippled and bulged the same way his biceps had. Yes, a sandwich. A delicious cock sandwich.
He was past resisting now. Desire showed on his face and in the way he was kissing her. She stood up and disrobed, pleased by the way he took in her body and by his look of slight shock as he realized she wore no panties or bra.
Unwrapping the load of bread caused another look of surprise, but she was pleased to see he wasn't off at a jog. That would have been difficult, though, with the pants still wrapped around his legs. She had it all thought out. Well thought out.
Kneeling again she took a slice of the bread and wrapped it around his penis. Black pumpernickel bread, white cock. Color coordinated-beautiful.
She looked at the bread and the cock within it. A hot dog, sort of, and the balls below were mustard and relish, of course. She tried a little 'of the seasoning, circling her tongue over the hairy, goose-bumped surfaces. Her one hand stroked his legs, the other still wrapping the bread around and around his pulsating prick. His breathing got heavier, his body trembled.
She got up on the sofa with him, her bare bottom in front of his face, wondering briefly if he'd know what to do with it. With her mouth on the tip of his cock she started eating. Eating the delicious looking penis sandwich she had envisioned all day. With a nip at the hard crust of the bread at the tip of his cock she chewed and chewed, her mouth gently chewing around his cock, swallowing a bit of jism with the small mouthfuls of bread. She had made the decision. She intended to eat the whole slice no matter how long it took her. If he could stand it, that is.
Licking his cock under the bread on her upstrokes she let her saliva soften the bread. Then, as she brought her lips down hard around the white cock, the black bread broke off in her mouth. With her lips compressing the cock and making it slide back and forth in its black sheath she worked the bread into small bits, her mouth sliding from side to side in slow sensuous moves. She worked slowly, easily, down the root, enjoying the mixture of textures and tastes. The graininess of the pumpernickel, the sweet jism coating the bread, the smooth hardness of his shaft. Good sandwich, good meal. Yet She was getting hornier and hornier. The thought of the muscle-bound bulging cock stuffed in her mouth filled her body with a desire to be stuffed all over. As she chewed and sucked and swallowed, her free hand worked its way to his rear. She forced a finger deep into him. His body went rigid, his chest arching into her stomach. He grabbed her buttocks, squeezing them, hurting them with the strength of his powerful hands. She ate at him harder, faster, caught with the frenzy of the rough fingers kneading her behind. Her fingers drove into his anus, as she writhed atop his body, humping his chest, mouth-fucking his cock, devouring his cock, the bread, the jism. Eating him, working at the bread to be done with it, to be able to just suck and draw on the ramrod-stiff muscle without gagging on the bread that was filling her throat. She wanted her throat filled with the length of the hot tool spitting in her mouth.
She wanted something else, too, but so far he hadn't given it to her. His face was inches from her cunt. In fact the pressure of his hands against her rump was pushing her bush into the side of his cheek. All it needed was a small effort on his part to bring him into an eating position of his own. But, damn him, he wasn't making the effort.
Ah, well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed....
Gert-Mohammed stopped the motions of her mouth and fingers, took a little bounce on her hip and whipped her snatch. Rudolph took it full in the mouth, coughed, sputtered and jerked his head up. "Wha-wha-" he said.
"That's a good mouth formation, but inhale when you do it-hard. Ready?"
"You stopped," he said, looking like his eyes were about to pop out. "Why'd you stop?"
"Because I hate to eat alone. Join me, Rudyyummm!"
And her lips took the tip of his cock in a twisting, rolling kiss-suck that popped when she suctioned herself free.
"Do like that, Rudy-now," she said, moving up his ass and around his cock, and again she shoved her snatch to him. Crap, he probably had some stupid idea about germs or something, which was stupid, like, if you're willing to stick your unprotected pecker in that hot, hairy hole, what was so goddamned scared about your fucking tongue which didn't even have a hole in it, which made it a hell of a lot safer from any would-be creeping cruddies than that pecker which after all was an inviting tunnel running through all sorts of intestinal tracks and....
Crap! He probably was just too fucking young. Probably he'd never eaten a pussy before and just didn't know how. But young people were supposed to have imaginations, weren't they? And just how much fucking imagination did it take if you've got a pussy staring you right in the face?
Oh, screw the whole thing, she decided, resolving to get rid of the rest of that fucking black bread and let the Hercules prick roar around in her cunt her cunt her cunt her cunt-oooo-wheee! HER CUNT!
And then his tongue in it, darting in and out so unexpected but there, there, there, and-oooo-so right there, right in there, right on, under, around, out, in, against, between, through. So young the tongue, a young tongue, it sounded like a Chinese dish-Yung-Tung soup, please. Slurp! And from the feel of what was going on down there he was eating it Chinese bowl-style, cupping his hands around the bottom and lifting the lips and drinking there from the goodie-slurpies deep down in the bottom of the billowing bouncing baby bowl....
And his body twisting, turning, as she finished chewing the last morsel of bread, a hard crust that seemingly took forever to disintegrate, swallowing it whole and pulling with lips and fingers the length of his cock as she did. Now. Now, she thought and she sucked and worked his cock with pliant lips until she felt him ready to come. He was forcing his tongue and his prick deeper into her; she responded by shoving a second finger up his ass to join its mate already there, her other hand, no longer finding room on the cock, sliding down to caress his balls.
Their bodies were working together now, her cunt squeezing his tongue, squeezing harder and harder, pushing her-his wetness in and out of her, his massive hands kneading her buttocks with a wayward thumb, a roamer, forcing its way into her rectum.
And then, with a pow, a teasing, weird sensation that-oh God, not now! But it was: his body started the slow all-over shudder that she knew signalled he was coming. She screamed within herself-she had to come, too, but she couldn't feel anything building within her. But she had to come. She just had to. But then with a deep moan and spasming body he came into her mouth, lava-thick, molten hot come filling her mouth, spilling out of it, smearing over her face, over his belly.
She collapsed over his cock, disbelieving. Shook. Her body screaming and aching.
If she talked he would be sure to get up and. go. But if she didn't, if she didn't how could she tell him what she needed. He was too young to know, to sense her need.
Her fingers moving gently in his rectum, she tried to kiss life back into his tool. Nothing happened. He was spent. She lay there disappointed, her bottom still heaving, unable to stop. That bottom wanted to be fucked, and fucked it would be-she hoped.
Pulling her fingers from his rear she slid down his body. Down to his toes. She licked the tops of his feet, hot licks. Then his ankles and shins. His knees. When she got back to his inner thighs he was quivering. Her breasts felt his tool hardening again, pushing against her soft tautness. She swung to the floor and lay there. She knew he was ready again.
She spread her hair behind her, running her ringers through it, arched her back, swung her hips in gentle arcs through the air.
Without a word, without a sound, he rolled from the sofa onto her and into her. The move was deft, but it was about the only thing that was. Once inside he ground the living bejesus out of her, which was precisely what she needed.
And while he labored over her she met his thrusts, feeling, knowing that this time she was going to make it and make it good, also knowing that afterwards she'd easily bring him to jumping his blocks off. She thought about her penis sandwich invention and was pleased. Larry would really appreciate this one. And at least he'd know what to do so that their mutual face-fuck would bring them to bliss together.
Boy, he'd love it. White cock and black bread. Great color coordination. And there were several other variations on the color scheme.
Like, for instance, bread, cock and marmalade.
Yummy, she was thinking, as Rudolph's efforts started her up the Big Cock Candy Mountain.
CHAPTER FIVE
She felt as she had when Larry had come home from Addis Ababa-the doll bit, sort of. But this time he was actually inside of her, and it felt good, all right. Except she wanted to grind, to hop, to thrash around. But uh-uh, he wouldn't even let her move her twat muscles. "Later," he said.
She was on her left side, the "blessed side" for this position. Samputa-tiryak-bandha, it was called, Larry said. He'd sampled others but he was sure this was the one that Gert would like best, at least for the first go-round. He had promised to show her some of the others in due course, had said in fact that from what he learned on his one outing they could have several months of positions and a variety of techniques. The sounds accompanying kissing, the kinds of kissing, the charms and potions, the biting and scratching, all were important and instrumental in total fulfillment. He didn't know them all but his sales manager in Bombay was seeking out a more extensive book than the one Larry had picked up in a back street shop there. His was supposedly illustrated but the majority of the picture pages had been torn out. While they lay motionless, Larry said that according to the book she was a mrigi-meaning she had a six-finger yoni. "That's middle category, and fine-fine for the size of my prick, which is a lingam. Yoni means cunt, by the way."
"Naturally," she had responded with a sigh. "I've read the Kama Sutra and Ananga Ranga too, as well as the Perfumed Garden and-"
"Sure you have. We read them together, but they were a waste, right? Except for a couple of things in them, they were a waste. The whole point is that those books take for granted that you already know quite a bit. We didn't but now I do."
"Fine," she said. "Can I move around now?"
"No. You certainly have chanda-vega."
"Certainly. What's that?"
"It means you have an extremely high capacity for sexual enjoyment. It also means, an Indian' salesman told me, that perhaps I shouldn't be travelling around so much. Women with chanda-vega are known for their ever seeking carnal enjoyment. And, reportedly, they don't much care who they enjoy. Well, I told him that maybe that was true in India but back where I come from...."
This wasn't going to be the proper night for telling him about the penis sandwich.
Resides the book, Larry had brought home two other helpful hints. Helpful, at least, from his point of view.
The first was a woven mat, fairly interesting in its geometrical design, and fairly uncomfortable to be lying on too, as Gert could surely testify. But Larry had insisted that it was all part of the game. "And a rare specimen at that. A real sacred thing. This couple had had a fun-filled sixty years of sexual kama before they died of cholera or something. It's unusual for anybody to take out one from the country, one like this, I mean."
Reflecting on its hard and scratchy surface that was biting into her shoulder and thigh, Gert allowed as to how she could understand why.
The second item was also a sexual aid, and was at least softer. Which nicely took care of the good things that could be said about it. It was a jelly, disgusting-looking brownish cream. He wouldn't tell her what it was composed of but said only that he'd been assured that she would be his for life once he rubbed this onto and into her. And that he planned to do, first thing-onto and into all of her.
He had smeared it all over her body caressingly. Over her closed eyelids, in her ears, around her neck, in her arm pits. His hands worked the brown substance into her breasts, around her hips, in her navel and down her thighs. When he finished with her toes and legs, he slowly headed back toward her yoni, as he now referred to her cunt. Carefully he smoothed the cream onto her inner thighs, then turned her over onto her stomach while he ranehis hands into her crack and gently inserted fingers into her rear. In a clinical manner he daubed the sub stance around and around her rectum and when his finger was out he smeared the brownness around the outside of her hole and then palm-massaged it into her buttocks.
Turning her again onto her back, he concentrated on the yoni, making sure all the folds of her lips were covered with the brown goo. As he finished the outside his fingers scooped another supply of the potion from the small jar on the side of the bed, and worked the remainder of the substance deep within her.
It was crazy. Her muscles were starting to contract of their own volition. They were spasming and she couldn't stop them. In the long moments that he was rubbing the substance within her, she came. Once, twice-quiet, deep, very satisfying comes that surprised her. Larry looked pleased-and unsurprised.
"That was supposed to happen," he said, smiling at her. "Nice?"
"Nice," she murmured. "This stuff, Larry. What-?"
"Alum crystals. The active ingredient, anyway. They constrict the vaginal muscles, which also helps for what follows."
What followed began with his placing her on her left side, ignoring her request to shower. He wouldn't hear of it. Forming her body into a bow-a natural arc shape-he took the pillows from the bed and placed one of them under her head, the other under her hips and buttocks. The contrast of the softness with the scratchy mat made the pillows much appreciated.
Then he too was on his left side, his chest curled into her back. His lingam toyed briefly around her buttocks and yoni and then he entered her. Lingam in yoni, cock in cunt: Her vaginal muscles started constricting again but he admonished that she had to stop them.
"Concentrate on stopping them-for a while," he told her.
She wanted to move along the length of his cock within her, to pacify the contractions, but she concentrated as she'd been told and the spasms stopped. He now lay motionless. "Wait," he whispered, smoothing more of the brown potion into her shoulders. Then his hands and arms began caressing her body from forehead to knees, lingering on her breasts, then rummy, then hips, all the time rubbing more and more of the substance in and around, around and his hips, too, was resting on the pillow that he had placed under hers. Both their hip areas were only slightly elevated, the bent-bow shaping of their joined bodies broken only at the top where he had gently guided her head downward suggesting that her eyes take in the action in and about her yoni.
Action? Lingam and yoni were joined but motionless. And his hands were now extended flat, palms resting on her navel, fingers together and resting lightly on and around her clitoris. And also motionless.
She waited. For something to happen. Movement of some kind, any kind. Nothing. The suspense was getting-was already-unbearable. She was filling with desire. Her cunt ached. It was a deep well of pain filling with more pain. No, not pain exactly, but a core of nerve-ache, centered where the tip of his cock was. Deep within her.
They lay like that for what seemed hours. Nothing was happening. Except just about everything. More and more unbearable it became until Gert gasped. From the pit of her stomach a protest, half-formed but fully justified, was moving its way upward to her throat and open mouth, but "No," he whispered. "No words. They distract." And she closed her mouth, obediently pressing her lips together to stifle the stillborn complaint. Obedient. Docile. That's what she was with Larry. She thought briefly then of Gil and Rudolph, how with them she had been master, they the slaves. But with Larry it was different. Yes, yes, and of course because he was It was sudden. A small sudden cock-twitching movement that could move a mountain of-and did. And then she knew. Larry's move had been involuntary. She knew because her move, her answering, direct-response move, was the same. She felt her muscles reply with a tightening on his now repeatedly pulsating prick. The sensation was-unreal, yes. But real real, too. She was squeezing the life from him.
She started to make a slow circular motion with her lower body but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her hip. Again they were motionless but Gert could now feel that cock of his not moving, but throbbing in her. Slow, deep, heartbeat blood-beat cock-beat throbs. His heart-cock-blood-life essence was centered there, beating within her. The pulsing became harder, heavier, more insistent. And now her own insides were matching the beat.
He throbbed, she squeezed, then they pulsed together. The rhythm picked up in intensity and in speed. It was frantic, frenetic. Their outer-shell bodies inert, motionless, their inside realities driving-being driven-like a pneumatic drill. Uncontrollable, wild, crazy, but yes-right.
She grasped his hands. There was a need for something to hold on to, to anchor down the ecstatic turmoil broiling within her. But there was to be no anchor, not now, for he gently removed her hands, returning his to the motionless position on her stomach and clitoris. And now the drumming throbbing constricting spasming feeling was tearing her insides apart. She tried to stop the responsive squeezing of her muscles. She couldn't. Larry seemed so calm outside, his body motionless, his hands, trying to bring some of the serenity of those hands into focus-to force some sort of reality over her screaming, bursting brain.
She focused her attention downward, following the path of Larry's hands. His wrists, his fingers-calm, motionless, a still landscape centered on her inner being, her central core, this core of hers that was not a part of her, that was taking action of its own accord, the core that she had no mastery over. Her mind responded to the motionlessness of Larry's hands. She realized her own hands had been tearing at the pillow beneath her head. She relaxed them, composing her mind, adjusting to the inner calmness which now was seeping through her body. The turmoil inside her vagina was still there but now she could cope with it, she could get the main thrust of the non-thrusting pleasure without being distracted by a churning, whirling head which had nothing to do with what was going on. Ideas. You don't fuck with ideas. You fuck with cunt and cock, cock-in-cunt, lingam-m-yoni. And it was there, filling her. Filling her walls. Driving deep into her. Stretching, reaching, thrusting, throbbing, pulsing. All without any apparent movement. So much for what the eyes and mind know about screwing. So much a cunt knows, when The rhythmical pulsing, smothering her, washed over her like a waterfall, cascaded over her in hundreds of droplets of pleasure. Lying like that for an eternity and. ... His tool looming even larger, expanding deeper than her available depths, and....
Realizing that she was coming coming and that he was now doing so in force. Feeling the hot semen shoot into her and, like the wondrous waterfall-feeling of eons before, feeling it washing over her, womb-warming her, world-wrenching-wreaking-wringing And she came. She came with an exploding dynamite spasming of her muscles that forced him out of her. With his cock just resting at the opening she lay there. Spent. Satisfied. At peace. Yet her internal contractions continued, and it was not until he entered her again that she realized she'd not yet crested the final peak. And then she did, tasting and savoring and relishing this utterly quiet bursting. Not of her mind but bf her body. Body alone, new and marvelous sensation. She had never come before with just her body. Her brain had always gotten entangled with that wildness that her body felt.
This was good. So good, and then so peaceful a coming apart. She sighed and they slept like that. At peace. Joined. Kama.
"Large bee?" Gert asked. "What's that?"
"It's called purushayita-bhramara-bandha." Larry said. "You like that better?"
"The King's English suits me fine. But I've got a little something I'd like to try on you."
It was the following morning. Larry and Gert had awakened slowly and lazily and moved to the bed. There they had shared the orange juice and coffee which Gert had trotted down to prepare and trotted back upstairs with, like the satisfied wife she in fact was. But it was down in the kitchen that her eves took in the sticks of butter, which some insensitive demon had placed right next to the orange juice in the refrigerator. He'd brought the butter up on the tray which now occupied the night table on her side of the bed.
"Really, Larry, while you were gone I got this glorious idea. See, what we do is-"
"What we do, Gert, is teach you how to excite me. When I'm down, I mean, when old Peter is tired."
"Right," she said. "Now, what I have in mind-"
"The large bee."
She pouted. "That isn't exactly-"
"But it is. Get me hard-quick."
She looked at him warily. "How?"
"Any way you want, but quick."
She eyed the butter. No, that was little involved-and had nothing to do with a bee, large or small. Excite him, he said. Well, she knew how to do that much. She swung toward the middle of the bed. Lifting his legs and buttocks into the air-with his help-she put her legs under his, buttocks to buttocks, her mons pressing against his testicles. She leaned over him grasping his root with both hands, putting her lips to the tip of him. She knew he loved to watch her mouthing him. Eating away at him. She kept her head up so that he could see her lips sucking, sucking at the tip of his cock.
Her hands worked at the base and caressed his scrotum. She could feel him beginning to grow. It was a good feeling, taking the limp, soft mass into her mouth and hands and feeling it expand at her bidding, her willful touch, her masterful control.
Soon he was filling her and she was reluctant not to take him to the end. It was a pleasure watching his face when she made him come like this. She loved feeling the moment he was about ready to spurt and to look up and see his eyes closed, facial muscles contorted with the anticipation of the delectable inevitable, with her knowing that she alone was responsible for this final act, the exact and practiced placing of the lips the way he liked it, of circling the cock tip with a hard insistent tongue, of urgent pressuring at his base. These were the moments of control, her knowing that if she wanted to do that to him for hours there was nothing he could do to stop her. He wouldn't stop her for anything. The pleasureful pain, painful pleasure was too great. He would just lie there and let her suck and pull and eat and gorge herself to her heart's content.
But as much as she loved it, really loved it all, there was something she loved more. And that's what she wanted now. With a final long draw on the-what did he call it?-yes, linsam, she pushed her hands under his buttocks signaling him to lift. She knew he wouldn't want to, that if he was lazy this morning he would just want her to finish what she had started. And she also knew if it came right down to it, she would oblige him.
Removing her mouth from him. she extricated her legs from under his body and reached up to his mouth, stretching full length upon him. And now he was pulling her up to him. Her breasts reached his mouth and he took one of them deep into him, nipping and biting at it, fondling the other. Feeling his hard cock graze-her buttocks, she reached behind her to touch him but he stopped her. He explained what he wanted her to do as he stretched out full length on the bed. She sat at a squat above his lingam, her bottom touching but not resting on his thighs. As she inserted him in her she closed her legs firmly around him. Her muscles constricted to hold him that way. Then following his instructions, she moved-from the waist in a circular motion, churning over his cock, feeling it go deeper and deeper into her, turning and swaying over his hard, hot shaft, looking at him, sitting upright, her weight on his full rod. It was nothing new, this business of being on top, but this position with her movement so carefully guided by him was a thing quite, quite new.
She found she could sit down on his fullness, getting the length of the root into her. Then, as she turned and swayed in the circular motion, she could force the prick to circle her clitoris. On the one hand she could sit forward and stimulate her outer lips with his cock. On the other, she could churn backwards and feel his balls filling the crack between her buttocks, a nice feeling, a filling-full feeling.
He was writhing under her, but not uncontrollably. If in fact he started to move to jam deeper into her, she could put her weight onto him to stop him. She could control the thrusts and the motions, his and hers. She could have him fill her or have his cock pressing hard against her mound. She was in control, just like when eating him, but with the glorious difference of him-in-her.
Suddenly he reached up to grab her breasts and she knew he needed something to anchor him. She'd had that feeling so often. She knew how crazy you could go without that stabilizer. With a laugh she arched her back, pulling her breasts away from his reach and sat down hard on his thighs. Let him go crazy-for a little while anyway.
Churning and turning and fucking his prick she now no longer had any motive other than satisfying herself. He was forgotten as she leaned slightly forward to get the rubbing on the outside and the inside of Tier body. She jounced up and down and back and forth and steadied herself on his thighs as dizziness attacked her head.
The clitoral come started first and she ground herself around and around his cock, letting it hit her where the sensation was strongest. Then to her rear at the bottom of his cock the friction built up in another area that needed her attention. She half stood, still in the squat position and came down hard and harder bn him. She concentrated on letting him hit the front and back with each thrust into her. He was moving now, too, and she let him, letting his hips fly into the air to grab her cunt as she took off only to come down and impale herself on this spiking pleasure tool.
He had her breasts in his hands now and tried to pull her down on him. His mouth opened in a full circle and one breast was sucked into it. As she tried to pull away and hoist her hips into the air he sat half upright and she came down on him-on his hard cock-and his outstretched fingers found a target. One or two or three or twenty of them entered her rear, but only for an instant.
She went upward again, grabbing his hand as she did. She straightened her back and came down, spear-splitting her ass with his cock, a direct hit that tore her brains to shreds. With the same circular motion of her waist, her back arched, her fingers wound on his fingers which now eagle-clawed her cunt, she let out a piercing, staccato scream of operatic quality.
A stream of sperm spewing into her, she added a second note and a third and a fourth.
The Large Bee finished with as good an aria as Madame Butterfly.
CHAPTER SIX
The Day of the Vacuum was a Wednesday.
Larry was in Thailand, having departed the previous Monday. Gert was at home, and bored and undecided about what to do with her day. She had set the alarm last night for an early wake-up, the idea in her mind that maybe she'd leave the kitchen light on for Gil. When the alarm rang, she thought about Gil briefly, grimaced, depressed the button to silence and slept until ten. Rising then, she slipped into a long green velour robe and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she fed the coffee-maker and while it blipped and bubbled she paced the living room.
A day ahead. A Wednesday. What to do with it? If she belonged to a ladies' Wednesday afternoon bridge and cookies club, there wouldn't be the problem. But, thank the Lord, she didn't belong to any such thing. She shivered at the thought.
The day outside was gray. Inside she felt gray. The coffee-all blipped and bubbled and boiling hot-even tasted gray. She thought again of Gil. He was gray. But there was that young, strapping Rudolph. But while not all that gray himself, there was the gray fact that he worked at the little store just on weekends. And this was a Wednesday. A gray Wednesday. The kind of day that Well, the kind of day that she imagined people committed suicide on, by wrist-slashing or something. Except she'd read somewhere that most suicides occurred on bright sunny days when all the world was bright. Supposedly it had to do with the individual's not being able to face up to all that external brightness or something. It never made much sense to Gert. By heaven, if she ever committed suicide it would be on a gray day. Probably a Wednesday.
Gil, no. Rudolph, no. Then why not somebody else? Surely she could Surely, but what was the point? The point had been clear, of course. To gain experience, to master variations, to learn. But what, really, had her two excursions to other men's groins won her, experience-wise, that she hadn't contributed herself? Answer: nothing. But, just as surely, she couldn't just walk up to a man and ask him point blank, "Say there, are you any good in the sack? I mean, are you different? Can you offer a new direction?" Or could she?
And even if she could, what was the point? Not once in the weeks since her "new" experiences did Larry give her the opportunity to play her new role. Well, maybe he had. After all, he hadn't insisted they spent their every waking moment fucking this style or that style or any style for that matter. She just hadn't had the-what?
Desire? Inclination? No. Guts is what she hadn't had.
"A cream bath?" she could hear him say. "Where in hell did you ever get a thought-like God no, Gert, not with that little runty sawed-off....
Or:
"Cock sandwich? Sure, it sounds fine-but just how and where and who...."
Larry, after all, had a pretty vulnerable ego. No, maybe if there was some way she could make him think a new idea was really his . ... But then that would defeat her whole original purpose, the real reason why Real reason? She thought about that. Had she been conning herself all along about her real motivations? Larry had called her a chandra something or other-translation: hot-twat broad. She couldn't deny it, and couldn't deny that her original involvement with extra-marital cock possibly had quite a bit to do with the fact that the marital cock was out of town for such long stretches. Nor could she deny another, more simple truth:
She liked fucking.
A fact. A fact realized and now accepted. The coffee suddenly tasted less gray. Outside her window the day still was the same, but she knew that outside the door there was Outside the door there was a metallic clank. A moment's reflection and Gert had the sound identified. Thejnailbox! And where there is a mailbox clanking, there is a mailman!
She was to the door in a shot.
At its opening, the mailman turned. He had been halfway down the walk, but he turned. "Yes, ma'am?" he said.
He was bone thin and some two hundred years past retirement age. She imagined his knees creaked louder than his voice.
"Er, nice day, isn't it?" Gert said with a smile.
He looked up at the sky. "Kind of gray, if you ask me," he said. And with a shrug he was gone.
She emptied the mailbox and went back inside.
Three bills and a mechanics magazine Larry subscribed to.
When the doorbell rang she jumped a startled six inches-well, three inches maybe. Her hand approached the latch with hesitation. Lord, could that mailman have gotten the insane idea that....
"Hi there," he said.
He being of good height, average build, of swarthy complexion, of slicked-down jet-black hair, of conservative suit with a bright orange tie. He was definitely not the mailman. He was " ... your territory's vacuum cleaner service man."
"My territory? I didn't know I had one."
He laughed a salesman's laugh, a three-syllable laugh; "Ah-ha-ha!" Accent second syllable. In the event she'd missed it the first time, he repeated it:
"Ah-ha-ha! I should have said your area. It's really my territory. Your area is my territory."
"That's nicely put," she replied with a cool smile. She wondered whether he really could make it so. He was, after all, a salesman. And a salesman enters a lot of houses, sees a lot of women, has no doubt a variety of experiences.
Besides, she liked fucking, she reminded herself. But he hadn't asked her yet. Not that when it came right down to basics the asking was all that important. But it would be nice for a change. She did not miss, however, the way his eyes, weasel-like, roamed over the front of her robe.
"All right," she said, still coolly, "now that we have our geography straight, might we pass on to why it is you rang my bell?"
"I'm a vacuum cleaner service man," he said.
"You mean vacuum cleaner salesman," she countered.
A pained expression came over his face-as if she'd farted or something.
"Salesman? Ah-ha-ha! Why, my good little woman, that's not true at all. I'm simply here to look over your current cleaner and to offer my services, if required."
Oh, they're required all right, Gert thought. If you perform as well as you can "ah-ha-ha". But he was still talking.
"Right you are, my good little woman. But first allow me to get my instruments. They're in the car."
He turned and jogged lightly to a Ford station wagon parked at the curb. Down went the back panel, out came two long cardboard boxes, each with convenient handles, up went the panel, and up the walk sped Super Serviceman.
As he set the two boxes down in the living room, Gert asked. "You're expecting to have to do major surgery?"
"Ah-ha-ha! But you'd be surprised how many things can be wrong with a machine like yours. Now, may we see the old thing?" he asked jovially.
She did not miss the slightly less than jovial tone he placed on the word old, however. Especially since her cleaner was less than two years out of its showcase. But this was his game and she'd let him play it. For a while.
She produced the cleaner from the closet.
"Ah-ha-ha! A competitor's product!" he laughed, getting on his knees to inspect it. "Good machine-rather recent model, too, I see. Of course science has come a long way in the interim, but-ahhh!"
He had opened the outer casing of the cleaner.
Gert sat on the floor, the machine between them. "Something wrong?"
"Well...." He looked at her with a serious expression. Like a doctor who had just checked over your X ray.
"I can take it," she said bravely.
He seemed to consider whether or not she really could. Gravely he said, "There are a few tests I should make." He stood, awkwardly lifting her heavy cleaner from the floor. Heavy? But it wasn't heavy. She'd just carried it from the closet. In which case, why was his shoulder sagging so low? Did ha-ha-Happy Boy have a double hernia or something?
"There?" he said, exhaling from the effort as he clumsily set down the bulky machine by an electrical outlet. As he laboriously unwound the cord from its containing prongs, Gert shook her head violently. Bulky? It was a trim model-it even said so on the front of the thing. And why was he having such a problem unwinding that cord? That was a specific convenience feature of the model.
The cord plugged in, he rose, took two steps and tripped upon a corner of the cleaner. Catching his balance, he grinned.
"Sorry about that. These old machines always seem to have some hunk of metal dangerously hanging out to entrap the unwary."
Gert nodded unsurely as he plugged in the hose extension to the base of the cleaner and placed the rug-cleaning attachment onto the other end. "Now," he said, and with a groping search he found the correct button and the machine sprang to humming life.
"Sounds all right to me," Gert commented.
"What's that?" he shouted. "Can't hear you!" He gestured at the cleaner. "This model was one of their real noisy ones. Or it could be a worn bushing."
"There's no need to shout," Gert said.
"How's that?" He bobbed his head. "You could be right. Out. The bushing's probably worn out. But the real test is...."
He applied the suction end of the carpet cleaner to an area in front of the couch somehow catching the toe of his show again and flailing the air for support. Balance was again restored and after two or three swipes of the rug area, he clicked off the motor.
"Whew! That's better," he said.
"Cleaner, you mean?" Gert asked.
"Sound, my good little woman, I'm talking about sound," he said confidentially. "Some of these motors sound like a 747 tearing down the runway. But now, let's see how well we did, cleaning-wise."
Gert inspected the carpet. "Looks fine to me."
"Sure it does," he agreed. "But your cleaner didn't get out the hidden dirt."
"Hidden dirt," she repeated.
His head bobbed. "Here, let me show you." He went to one of the long cartons he'd brought in from the car. In a flash it was open and out came Out came, naturally, a brand new vacuum cleaner.
"This is the latest thing in home cleaning, believe me. It has what we like to call Solar Magnetic Suction, patent pending. Now, I'm going to run this machine over the area I just cleaned with, your old model and you watch."
She watched.
She watched how, for example, he handled the new machine. There was no tripping, no straining, no awkwardness of any kind now. It was as if he were doing a minuet with a perfectly responsive robot partner. In a flash, it seemed, all was plugged in and ready to go. It was rather fascinating.
On went the machine.
"Loud, isn't it?" she asked him. It seemed, in fact, of about the same level of hum as her present machine.
He raised his eyebrows. "Loud?" he questioned. "My good little lady, this model features the Solar Whisper. We like to think of it as a sound very much like the soft kiss of sunshine on a crisp green leaf of a sturdy oak in the forest."
"Patent pending?"
"Trademarked," he acknowledged, and danced the hose into proper position. "Now, I'm going to run over the exact same spot you just saw me doand you watch!"
Again Gert watched. She watched him make three, just three, passes over the spot-"Note the extra-long hose, certainly a convenience, right?" She watched him gracefully rest the tube against the couch. She watched him toe-touch the proper button which transformed the Solar Whisper to quiet stillness. She watched him remove the front of the cleaner and pull out a plastic bag-"Made of materials used to send our brave men to the moon," he commented off-handedly-and watched him empty a pile of dirt onto her clean floor.
"Ah-ha-ha! You see that, little lady? Hidden dirt that is costing you a fortune in carpet-wear. Now I estimate-" his eyes looked toward the ceiling. "I estimate that to repair your old heavy worn-out piece of equipment it'll cost you no less than fifty-five dollars, probably around sixty-five. For average efficiency that's what you'll pay. I don't like saying it, but that machine of yours was never too good even when brand-new. No Solar Magnetic Suction, like this one here. And this one here sells normally for-well, never mind what it normally sells for. Seeing as how the company has empowered me to make a few sales at loss-for sales promotion purposes-this machine, this one you see right before you, with its features of Solar Magnetic Suction and Solar Whisper will come to only-"
"I don't want your fucking machine," Gert said.
"Huh?"
"You heard me. I wasn't speaking over any 747 or even your Solar Whisper kissing off its crisp green leaf. I don't want your fucking machine."
"We've got some attachments you might be interested in-here, let me show you." And his hands were into the second carton. "Normally-I say normally, good little lady-these cost extra, but in this particular case-"
"In this particular case, I'm horny as hell. How's that for a convenient feature?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He backed off two steps, but no more. His legs were flush against the couch to the rear, and flush against Gert to the front. Her hand moved deftly and she had his zipper down before he could say Solar Whisper.
Hand on goalpost, she laughed comfortably. "I'd like very much to get screwed right now. Especially by some one with an ... extra-long hose. Not to dismiss your patent-pending Super Solar Suction."
Her hand sampled his hose-and extra-long it was! Goody! But was he getting the idea? The fingers of her other hand were playing with the hair at the nap of his neck and her cheek was pressed hard against his. She was trying to figure out a gimmick. She already knew that he was going to be her next conquest. The hardening hose left no doubt about that.
"Look here," he began, but she cut him off.
"You look here. And if you go aha-ha-ha again or call me a good little lady again, I'll jerk this dong of yours clear out of its socket, you got that?" He nodded, she went on:
"I'm not stupid. I can tell a con job when I see one. I note, for example that you didn't show me an empty bag before you used wonder cleaner over there. I also have fairly good ears, and in addition I can tell when a man is trying to be particularly clumsy at one moment and graceful the next."
Hard cock and all, he looked genuinely abashed. "I wasn't convincing?"
She smiled. "I know what my own vacuum cleaner feels and sounds and cleans like. Give me brains enough for that. But your minuet was lovely."
"Quadrille," he corrected. "It's a quadrille. We had to practice it, to real music, lousy stuff."
"Anyway, you did it quite professionally."
"Uh-but no sale here, right?"
"Right. Which is not to say that your technique is wrong. It's just not tailored to someone like myself."
He tried to shrug, then looked down at her grasping hand and failed to carry it off. "It-er-works. Most of the time. You'd be surprised-"
"I've thought of a better technique," she said an oozing quality added to her voice. "And maybe it's you who'd be surprised. I'll show you, that is, if you're not in any specific hurry."
"Hurry? Er-not espec-"
But her tongue flickered around his ear and she blew soft warm breaths in and over it. Whispering, she said, "Then you should talk more about your blower. Do you have a good blower?"
He hadn't gotten all the message yet. His hands slipped around to her rear and he was inching the floor-length robe up her legs. Letting go of his cock, she wound both arms around his neck and leaned into him, compliant, soft, yielding. His hands were on the bare flesh of her buttocks. She could feel the goose bumps rising there.
And she could feel his stiff long maleness rising, too. It felt fat-not just long, but fat, too. No Gil in that respect but broad-at least for the man's general build. She reviewed some of the elements of his sales pitch.
The nozzle of the Solar Magnetic Suction hose was sort of fat, too-she wondered how he would like being sucked off-or suctioned off-by his own solar magnetic product. She intended to find out. She pulled him to the center of the room where the carpet was free from any furniture. When they reached her objective she broke from his grasp.
He looked at her stupidly, but she paid him no mind as she bent down and began searching through the carton of attachments. As she straightened, empty-handed but fully knowledgeable, she flicked the switch at the base of the canister with her bare toe. And she pulled open her robe. She let him get a good look.
She raised the "deluxe length" hose and pressed it into him, siphoning his trousers the way one would use the instrument to clean draperies.
"Some super suction," she said deprecatingly. "Hasn't taken a thing off yet."
Removing the tube from him, she again rifled through the case, inspecting the various brushes, hoses and tubes laying in the fitted compartments. "What does this one do?" She held up a wide nozzle. "Super suck," he replied, giving her an uncertain flash of his gaudy smile.
She pulled the cleaner's hose toward her and fitted on the wide nozzle. Experimentally she then fitted the nozzle over her right breast. It sucked.
She moved the nozzle back and forth across it. It was like a huge mouth pulling at her. She could just imagine what it might do to him.
But already he was getting ideas-probably not very similar to hers though, she thought as she lifted her head to look at him. He was unbuckling the belt around his trousers. When the trousers dropped, she was at him with the tube. He was wearing boxer shorts and she made a mental bet with herself on the odds of whether she could suck out his cock from the loose opening of the shorts.
Super suck? We'll just see.
But as he leaned down to pull his trousers over his now unshod feet, her intended target disappeared, so instead she directed the nozzle toward his buttocks. It drew in the fabric with a whoosh! With a cry of glee she lowered the hose until his shorts were around his knees.
She laughed again with the pure delight of a child. What a weapon this thing was! Weapon? Why not? Asking and answering herself thusly, she decided that the tube made a fine club and used it at the back of his shorts-entwined knees.
This time the shoosh! came from him as he tumbled over backward and onto the carpet. "Hey!" he complained.
"What's that?" she shouted. "Can't hear you. Your Solar Whisper is acting up!"
The last five words she shouted directly into his ear as she lowered herself down atop him. He winced, but whether it was a reaction to that or to her hard grasp of his cock she couldn't tell. No matter. He was all hers now.
Swooping downward, she mouthed his swollen prick. His juices were already beginning to flow. Her tongue spread the stickiness down the length and around his organ until it was well-lubricated. Then moving her mouth downward to his scrotum and tonguing it lightly, she swiftly directed his cock into the extended nozzle of the vacuum tube.
The whoosh of the machine and his came together, as she began working the tube up and down the long length of his cock with the same motions she would have used with a hand or mouth-long, lingering concentration on the base and fast, furious flickerings up to the tip, molding the flexible plastic tube form to meet the smaller shape within it.
His groans and writhing told her it was good. She continued sucking the tip with the nozzle, remembering her own delight with the hard pull of the thing on her breasts. It was an odd tingling pulling biting grasping feeling. A feeling of having your insides drawn out-warmly, forcefully, but very pleasantly.
Knowing she could never get that amount of pressure using her own mouth she nonetheless tried to use it to create a super-suction on his balls. Sliding them from side to side in her mouth, her tongue forming a cradle as she drew in her breath in huge gulping intakes, she attempted to match with her breathing the push-pull of her hand-nozzle motion.
Time. She wondered about that. She knew how a simple jerk off or suck off was progressing by the feel of the cock in hand or mouth. But here it was a matter of guesswork. Or was it? Could she tell from his balls? After all, that was where the stuff came from-there ought to be some kind of internal reaction there.
There was. Slowly they seemed to-contract, that was it, get smaller, fold in upon themselves. It was a sort of shriveling effect-the scrotum-sac was tight and the balls themselves were tight, and the mass was-gathering itself for the explosion, like a constant steady inhalation that when reaching the limits of endurance would end in a blasting eruption.
Regardless, it was worth investigating.
She increased the tempo of her mouth-gorging, machine-sucking and finger-molding. Raising an eye over the heaving tautness of his stomach she saw his head was thrown back, rolling from side to side, eyes closed. His fists were clenching and unclenching, matching her rhythm, reaching out into the air for something to grab on to, finding the canister of the vacuum which he pulled to his chest. Using the constriction within her mouth for a gauge, she steadily increased her pressures and speeds. Then she felt it and saw it all at once. His balls tightened with rock-hardness, his arms strained around the canister he hugged, and then a wild, spasmodic jerk of his hips and a groan from his mouth told her. He had come. Hard and mightily, he had come. And pulling from him, she saw the last of the creamy foam still erupting from his bright-red cock.
The machine was off, silent. He lay quietly, in the same position, with her beside him, her face to his.
"Nice," he said. "And different."
"Mmmm. I like different things."
"You want to work for the company? I'd bet you could sell quite a few cleaners with that technique."
"I don't want to work at all. I like my men to work."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it's your turn." She kissed his lips lightly. "Meaning I think it's rather foolish for me to be showing you what your own equipment can do. Meaning I'm not at all satisfied. Meaning it's your turn."
"Meaning you want to get fucked," he concluded.
"Not just fucked. I want to get fucked by you as only you can fuck me, like nobody else can fuck me. Do you understand?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I understand. But you're a real weirdo, you know that?"
She licked the tip of his nose. "Funny. You weren't complaining a few minutes ago. Now, you play weirdo for a change-if you have the imagination."
The last phrase came out .taunting, as she'd planned. He reacted with a red flush of the face.
She'd attacked his manhood, his virility. Strange, it wasn't by the usual putdown. Not "Hey, you've got the smallest prick I've ever seen," or "I don't think you could come twice if you had six balls under that pud of yours." No, she'd attacked his imagination. And he had flushed, and he would do his damnedest. But screw his ego. All Gert cared about was that his damnedest was going to be good enough.
With the confident smile, he rolled over to the sample case, pulling out two brushes and another nozzle. He looked at each of them carefully and decided on one, a long narrow brush, the two others plopping back into the case. Rising to his knees, he pulled the canister toward him. He grinned at Gert, then unscrewed the hose from one side of the machine and into another hole on the other. At the business end of the hose he took off the super-suck attachment and replaced it with the narrow brush.
He stood. "You think I got a good blow job. Well, I did, but wait till you feel this."
And then the cleaner was on and the hose came at her outstretched body. A jet blast of air billowed her hair out behind her head. He worked the air pressure down over her body, bringing the nozzle inches from her skin. The soft but stiff-bristled brush grazed her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, feeling like nipping, biting teeth backed up by a giant mouth blowing hot blasts of air on and over her body.
The blast bathed her feet, having tauntingly by passed her lower stomach and cunt area. He now sat down on the floor by her hips, lifting her legs into the air and sitting them on his thighs.
His cock was erect and she was again amazed at its length. A hose if there ever was one, and now it rubbed the crack of her buttocks as his free hand stroked the backs of her thighs. The hose-the real one-was beside her, the air-jet directed over her midriff. He leaned over and wetly kissed her stomach. The warm air dried her skin swiftly and she broke out in goose bumps from the pleasurable sensation. As his lips worked down toward her cunt he redirected the hose to follow his path.
His tongue explored the folds of her labia and she was trembling with the excitement of what she thought was about to come. But the shock of the first penetration of his hot wet tongue deep inside her still surprised her. The air-jet was still blowing warm, sensuous waves of pleasure over her upper thighs, his long hot prick toying at her rear, as she moved to maneuver the tool closer to her hole he drew her toward him, his tongue probing deeper into her. Then it was gone and she was sitting on that creamy prick. He worked her up and down on that long spear-shaft, closing his thighs, pulling her down onto him, his now bulbous balls pressing into her quivering butt flesh, her clitoris pressing into and rubbing against his stomach. And then The still-spurting air hose brushed lightly over her inner thighs, closer and closer to her cunt, tickling tingling titillating-a thousand flecks, a thou sand small bugs creeping crawling over her body, aimlessly at first but then in a slow methodical manner around and around her clitoris, in endless eternal circles that familiarized her with the at first, strange sensation-stimulus of the itchy-teasy touch of the prickling brush that backed it up. And then he shoved it into her. The twirling blasting spinyness deep into her, the jet forcing against her walls, scraping the walls with this hot force. And now-since when? she wondered briefly-his cock was pulsing inside her rectum and in response she tried to move up and down on that, but when she did the air-jet moved deeper into her, pushing the walls of her insides to new, unnatural and ungodly dimensions.
The hose was snaked over her clitoris and now he-it-was winding its velvet-like texture across the flat of her panting stomach and under and around her breasts. She held the warmness to her, relishing the texture, the heat, and he-he was cock-ass screwing her, brush-cunt fucking her, and at the same time blowing the top of her head off. He whirled and turned the gyrating airbrush and yanked it out and ground it in with harshly twisting screwing, Lord yes, SCREWING-her trunk squirming, legs kicking, head rolling, fingers clawing, her insides blowing apart into fragmented bits, bits pinching pounding pummeling her interior from crotch to cranium, biting bustling bristling snakes and spiders crashing creeping climbing into her over her through her. And now bigger hunks of her, huge pieces of her clashing cymballing in her ears and clanging with sound and light and the mass reassembling reforming in odd unknown unexperienced symbolic shapes which then again reformed into one huge and recognizable God, it was that medical symbol thing, that staff with serpents wound around it like a screw-yes yes SCREW!-and the things puffing up like pricks' heads and, Lord, when that thing blew and when those serpent fangs bit into her like she knew they were going to going to going to SSSSSSCITWAMMMMPPPHHH! and now receding, disappearing, shriveling, unable to take the light of the bright glow that was within her from stem to stern, moving completely out of her as she felt the tube end and real cock end slide-slip from her interior gates and the warm flow of the air how playing over her settling-down exterior as he grinned down upon her watching his spent cock drip its last drops onto the carpet, thinking oh well what the hell, we've at least got the proper equipment handy to clean it'up....
CHAPTER SEVEN
"A new vacuum cleaner?"
Larry looked at her with a question mark on his face. His Thailand trip had been a short one. He'd cleared things up in two days there and was gone a total of six. Normally-or at least in the past-Gert would have been glad to have him back so soon, but a change was coming over her. A change that was none too subtle, though she resolved to keep it to herself for the time being.
This none-too-subtle change had slammed into her mind with full force three days earlier, the morning after the Day of the Vacuum. She had been awakened by the sound of the door bell and, hastily throwing on a robe and running to answer it, opened the front door to find "Ah-ha-ha! Ready for a little more house cleaning?"
Concealing her sudden disgust for super Salesman's slicked-down hair and corn-fed laugh, she quickly put a finger to her lips.
"Shush up, you damned fool! My husband's home!"
"I thought he was in India or some place," he said, abashed.
"Thailand. He's back. He'll be back for a month.""
The man at the door frowned. "But I move to a new territory in three weeks."
Tough titty, Gert wanted to say. Instead she repeated, "Shush."
"Okay, okay, no more action, I get it. But what about my machine-the cleaner I left with you yesterday?"
"Shush!" Gert said a third time. Then, because it looked as if Greasy was beginning to doubt her story, she cocked an ear toward the ceiling behind her. "It's no one, dear-just a solicitor for magazines," she called loudly. To the man at the door she said hastily, "Quick, get out-of here. He'd jealous as hell and he keeps a .357 Magnum loaded up there-and he's got a roomful of trophies for marksmanship!"
Greasy was down the path and into his station wagon before Gert could say, "Ah-ha-ha!"
Fully awake now and moving back toward the stairs, the thought automatically came to her that it would be nice if Larry were up there waiting for her in bed. That was when the slam came-in waves:
Nice, bullroar. You're lucky he's away. Lucky? But But what? So he's off to Bangkok, right? And when he comes home what happens? He displays the Big Bangkok Bang. Big Deal!
But it is a big deal. I happen to like Sure, you like the going, but look what the waiting has done to you.
Hmmm. But that really hasn't been all that bad, either. Has it now?
So you've enjoyed yourself, but haven't you realized anything yet about that husband of yours? The big lie he palmed off on you?
Lie? What lie?
He complained about your lack of inventiveness, didn't he? But think about it? Just how goddamned inventive is he?
He-He, darling, sits around on his flabby ass and lets all those broads do him, that's what he does. Then he comes home and acts the part of the Big Teacher. Do you think for a minute that he ever initiates anything with all those foreign broads? Well, do you?
Larry does not have a flabby ass! She replied to herself. But the rest of it was....
And he had the fucking nerve to talk about her!
But she hadn't let herself dwell upon the thing. She'd kept herself busy with house chores and some honest-to-goodness clothes-buying until the day Larry came home unannounced.
It was not like him, not like their usual routine at all, but Gert didn't ask why. She was glad in fact that he had surprised her. Because when she thought about it, which she did right after he entered the house, she also got a none-too-subtle thought that if he had told her in advance when he was coming home that she might have arranged to be out somewhere. Anywhere. It was all rather disturbing.
He, of course, was not surprised to find her doing something other than waiting for him in bed. He was surprised however, to find her using a new vacuum cleaner in the dining room.
"What was the matter with the old one?" he asked.
"Not a thing, but this one's a demonstration model." She smiled at that, but inwardly. "And it came to next to nothing. And it's got a better assortment of attachments than the other one, which we can use in the garage for the cars or something. You don't have anything against cleanliness, do you?"
He smiled an old-style Larry-tvpe smile. "I'm glad you asked me" that. Upstairs to the bathroom. Now."
"The Big Bangkok Bang?" she asked. It just slipped out.
But he missed the tone, if in fact there had been anything to miss. "Come on. I'm ready."
"Pot?" Gert asked, over the sound of the shower water.
The shower had been running its hottest a full force for an hour with door and window shut. Upon Larry's call, Gert had entered the steam-filled room, Larry standing before her, bowing low from the waist, his hands clasped together at his chest. Both wore short Thai silk Kimono-like robes of striped pink, blue and purple. As she hastily closed the door behind her, she noted that on the bathroom floor Larry had arranged two throw pillows. Indicating that she was to sit down on one, he with a ritual somberness lowered himself to the other in a lotus position, like a sitting Buddha. She followed suit.
"Good?" he asked.
She inhaled the steam deeply. After the initial assault of the heat, the skin-and lung-soaking was pleasant, nice. She nodded. "Good."
Larry also took a deep breath and let the air out slowly through his nostrils. "Cleanses the body and relaxes the mind," he said. "This too is for the mind."
He reached up to the sink and fished out something short and white. Reaching in again, he brought out a cigarette lighter. He lit the cigarette and passed it to her.
"I don't feel like smoking now," she had told him, also noting that the cigarette had no filter. She couldn't remember when she'd last tried a non-filtered "It's a special weed." Larry had said. "And part of the scene at today's smoke house in Bangkok."
"Pot?" Gert asked. "But why?" She looked at the thing with doubt. She'd often wondered what smoking pot would be like, but right now she wasn't sure....
"Breathe like this," Larry told her, again taking a deep gulping breath, letting the air out slowly. She imitated him, but still held the cigarette away from her lips, gingerly.
"Good," he said. "Now take a deep pull on the weed like that. Go ahead, you'll be fine."
She put the burning thing to her mouth, reluctant to draw, but the insistent look on Larry's face forced her on.
"Now hold it in," Larry said. "Hold it deep down inside you for a while. Then let it out slowly, very slowly. Good, that's it."
She did as bid and at his request passed the joint back to him. He took two long drags and returned it to her, eager now for her turn. She was no longer doubtful about this stuff, enjoying the-the colors of their new kimonos, for instance. As she looked at Larry's, the vertical rainbows were transmuted from things sharp, and bright to fading softening blurring hazes, melting and blending into watery-real stream patterns. "Relaxing," she said.
She then studied her husband's face. Exquisite. And she had been angry with-him, she remembered. But why? Who could be angry at such an exquisitely handsome, exquisitely relaxing man? She too was exquisite, she thought to herself, and suddenly had the urge to view her own face.
Abruptly she stood to look into the mirror, and, steam-clouded as it was, it did not stop her from seeing in sharp detail the beautifully sculptured face with pinks and reds and pale yellows and mauves and soft blues kaleidoscoping across the features that looked back at her.
"I'm wonderfully beautiful," she told the image matter-of-factly. Her hands moved to the tie on the robe and she opened it, letting the silk slide luxuriously down her shoulders and arms and from her to the oblivion of the floor. Her hands caressed her breasts, and then, hugging herself lightly, spontaneously, she purposefully moved fingers over her neck and down well-toned arms, fingers which then gracefully traced along her narrow waist, up to her torso and again to her breasts. She was soft and warm and wonderful and beautiful.
Through the euphoria of her senses, she felt lips kissing the backs of her calves, then the backs of her knees. Then he was standing behind her, gently rubbing his body against hers. Before her she saw materialize a joint. She pulled on it deeply, savoring the sweet raw taste of the smoke filling her lungs. It was her man, she supposed, who supported her as she sank backward and down, sitting again on a pillow, this time his. And it was he following her, still lightly pressing against her back. She leaned into him, forcing him backward until he made a shuddering contact against the dripping wet tub. He then slid his legs out and encircled her waist with them, she feeling maleness growing against her warm wet body.
Maleness. Cock. And no sooner had she thought the words when the vision of what she could not turn her head to see, what in fact was embedding itself into her spine, was granted her.
It was before her, directly before her, above her. Dangling and floating, growing and expanding, lengthening and widening, wetter now and hotter now and filling the room, taking up the breathing space through its burning, smothering And she thrust a hand upward to ward off its menace, at the same time pushing her body back against the stability of her man companion who would guard and protect her from But she went back farther than it seemed it was right she should and the looming hulking phallus in the air dissolved but was fast replaced with the reality of another, not so large as the first and not freewheeling, but attached to sturdy thigh muscles that rose from behind her upward-looking eyes, and she peeked at the prickness above which was reality that could be grasped, held onto, an anchoring pinion she could clutch in warding off damage from the storm that was upon her, that angry gale, that hungry Hungry.
And again mood was displaced by mood and the sensation of starving, of dying for lack of nourishment, a totally new feeling-no, once as a girl, at a carnival, she thought she'd die if she didn't get one of those drooling hot dogs that And it was a hot dog above her and it was drooling and the angle was all wrong, but she had toxconsume that taunting spectre and she raised her head and hands and turned her neck, trying openmouthed to And it was gone, that spectre.
And Larry who had been standing, then squatting behind her, pushed her up to an upright seated position again, and her head cleared and she heard his voice:
"Not yet. ... Later you'll have your chance. ... Right now, I'm going to...."
And she could feel his fingers deep into the nape of her neck, kneading fingers down her body, and the mind-blurring pot, the sight-dimming steam, the touch-softening pillows-the scene as was-began to recede, contrasting vividly with the harsh roughness of his strong hands gouging her shoulder blades, squeezing her waist.
And his voice, too, was firm, soft, soft, firm. " ... supposed to be the woman massaging the man, but ... you remember our dildo? Sure ... smokehouse girl had one, smaller ... but ... and I'm doing you like she did me....And no need for a dildo ... wear my own ... hands feel good?"
And all she could do was bob her head because his hands felt so good in their kneading of shoulder and spine and ribs and back, and she nodded again because she wanted to answer him but she couldn't say. But he was saying ... new position....Here, I'll...."
And she felt the strength of him moving her, positioning her, and her forehead now was resting on one of the pillows (which also kept her breasts from the sweating tiles) and the other pillow was under her stomach and hips and he was again gouging his hands into her and She felt the length of his cock brush gently between her buttocks and the softness of that contrasted with the roughness of his hands- "And the dildo like this, teasing, rubbing ... all around the rear, not going in ... softly screwing just around...."
And it was there, his hard dripping cock hovering at her rectum, the hot bulbous tip inserted deep between her crack. Ass-fuck. Yes, she wanted to be fucked, roughly, bunghole fucked, buggered, hard like the hands spanning her back. But he held it there, pressing it hard against her but not entering. She pushed to meet it, to devour it, but it slid wildly down her crack toward her vagina and then back up again as his hands pressed her rump down onto the carpet, then lifted, only to give her two stinging slaps on those buttocks. Then two more, followed by two shipping lashes of spear-like fingertips.
"Don't move," she heard him command.
She lay still, feeling the hands again grip her shoulders, the cock again founder at her hole. With each sinking of his hands into her shoulder blades he pushed his phallus at her. Lightly. Slightly. Barely perceptibly. At, around and just into the distended entrance, then pulling it out. His tongue now was pushing hard against the small of her back as though to enter her there with that tool. She wanted to move. To feel hot vastness puncture her deep and hard.
Knees now were pressing into her hips, his thighs joining hers and that tantalizing tip resting ever so lightly on her. Resting on and entering in, entering but not not not plumbing her depths. She squeezed her sphincters, trying to make the little head-end captive within her. She didn't want any more message. Not now. A good ass-screwing was what she wanted. She wanted the fuzziness of mind and body to be attacked and dissipated, to feel the hard reality of a pulsing, pounding prick tearing away at her rectum. Her butt lifted into the air unmindful of the slapping stings he was giving her as she moved. Lord, she just had to have it!
And now Larry spanked her buttocks hard, pulling his cock from her hole completely and lashing her rear with it. God, don't leave! He was hitting her with outstretched fingers and it felt like the stinging of a rubber band snapping against her taut flesh. His cock whipped against her upper thighs in prodding strokes. She spread her legs, pushing his apart. Her cunt ached now. Cunt and ass, but he God, it wasn't her back or shoulders she wanted slapped now. It was her cunt and her ass which needed beatings. Grinding pounding driving merciless beatings.
Her head cleared then-from the effects of pot and steam. Then other effects crashed into her with fiery fullness, an unholy NEED!
She tried to spin around. To meet that cock head on, to suck it into her with cunt or ass or mouth or anything. But he pushed her down, again sending biting slapping fingers up and down the length of her body. Flattening her with his extended body he reached under her, roughly grabbing her breasts with his hands. With a fury he circle-massaged them until the nipples stretched grew and crinkled under the hot friction of his rubbing palms.
His torso was now grinding into her buttocks, his extended cock rubbing her crack. As he pressed himself to her she could feel the cock nearing her rear again. She stilled herself, determined not to move if, if only, he would just put it in her again a little, just a little. And nearer and nearer it came, touching, testing, and then And then it was gone.
His prick, it was gone.
Good God, it was gone!
And he gave her three rapid heartbeats for the realization to strike her-then he struck her. He. It. GLORIOUS COCK FN ASSHOLE! With a pile driving rocket-pounding thrust his cock slammed into her clenched tightened buttocks and speared deep into her rectum, splitting her body and now reaming, ramming-with her doubling at the waist to heighten the target, and he forcing her flat again, while thrusting heaving shoving tearing into the narrowness of her, using her breasts as anchors, forcing them downward as he burrowed into her aching, splitting rear. , Gasping for breath, and strength and control as well, she again tried to bend her body upward, to widen the chasm of her insides. Again his hands whipped from her breasts and onto her back, shoving her hard against the pillow below. Again his hands flailed her back as his mindless prick tore its way through her. With frantic effort, she lifted her torso off the floor, unmindful of the heavier more frenzied beating of his hands and cock. As her pathway expanded she could feel him shudder and spasm. Her muscles contracted feeling the pulsing prick tremor against her tightness again. The tremors started counter tremors in her. They drove at each other, her ass reaching upward to suck his life from him, his hands still flailing against her.
Suddenly he shoved her flat again and, with one final thrust aimed straight against the side walls of her" anus, spewed his hot semen into her.
The sensation and pressure on her tender tissues shook her body in its own eruption of spasms and body-shaking tremors. She pushed against him, wiggling her bottom to get the most of his fast-wilting shaft. She wanted to make it, to climb that peak, wanted to, had to. Pushing and tightening and grinding her pelvis against the rug she strove for the climax. His jism was already pouring out her hole and dripping down her legs. He was finished? No, he had to help her make it. She had to, had to! She shoved hard against him and met a limp, withdrawn cock!
"You bastard! You goddamned fucking bastard!"
She screamed, knowing she could have cried. She had needed to come, had needed to, and Larry had just rolled-from her and onto his back, his arms outstretched, one resting on her thigh. She couldn't believe it. He had always made sure she was satisfied before he came.
Her body was numb, her mind no longer blurred by the haze of pot or the mist of steam coming from the streaming shower which now was beating into her mind-sharp, annoying tattooing sounds, piercing her frustration like his cock had "You bastard!"
"That's what happens in a smoke house," he said amiably. "The girl satisfies the man. He takes his fill of how and what he wants, period. Generally he doesn't have to enter the girl-unless he particularly wants to. You-you should feel honored-I deigned to enter you."
Gert looked at him unbelievingly. His trips always meant good things for her. But this time And her earlier thoughts began to creep back, those thoughts of his damned nerve And, furious, she stood to move to the door. His hand around her ankle stopped her. Standing up beside her he drew her to him. "C'mon, let's shower," he said.
"Fuck you!" she cried.
"Yes," he answered.
He reached into the shower and turned the knobs the proper way. He stepped in, pulling Gert with him. The shock of the water on her tense skin made her gasp. Suddenly submissive now, she watched as Larry picked up the round of lemon soap and twirled it in his hands. When he had a good lather he gently began soaping Gert's neck, shoulders and breasts.
He turned her into the force of the shower and from behind rinsed her, his hands stroking the lather from her skin. The tender concern of his hands contrasted vividly with the memory of his brutal assault on her minutes earlier, the lashing and reaming and selfishness of him dimming as he drew the tautness, the tension from her.
When he reached her lower body he grabbed a washcloth from the rack at the side of the tub. Wrapping the soap in it, he held it under the shower, the cloth bubbling with the froth 'from within. Then the soap ball was gone and he was spreading her legs with his hands, one a washcloth-covered hand which moved directly and strokingly to her vaginal area, gently, slowly, purposefully.
She leaned back against Larry, her head becoming dizzy with the sensation of an orgasm beginning to build. It would be a clitoral come, pulsing in Larry's cloth-gloved hand with its thumb rubbing against her clitoris, its other fingers into her, washing her insides with the rough but gentle soapy cloth, all his fingers drawing toward each other-the ones on the side reaching to meet his thumb-and away and together and away, flashing hot pulsing pressure, picking up in head-swimming speed, pleasurably swimming stroking along with that old familiar but ever new come-accompanied by a dizziness that made her weak-kneed and blurry-eyed.
And now, trying to stand, afraid to lean too hard, confused, delighted, thrilled (hot flash-God-flash), she felt a lone finger of his free hand prod at her rectum. Once, twice, while the clitoris-cunt rhythm went on.
And then it was there. A long deep thrust and it was there. She came with a slow, low moan escaping her lips. And rumbling moan barely audible but with the internal force of a shriek.
He turned her to him, held her, supporting her, loving her.
"Bastard?" he asked.
The question demanded no answer, nor was she sure she would have been capable of one. She lowered herself to the bottom of the tub, leaning her head against his right knee. The water drummed against her back in soft pelting drops. It was nice, very nice. When she lifted her head, Larry was washing himself, vigorously scrubbing under his arms and around his chest. When he reached to do his stomach and hips she took the cloth from him.
"Let me," she said.
He nodded, smiling. "But don't make it a long thing. We've got more ahead of us. A real special thing."
She looked up at him. More? For him or her or , both, she wondered. She wanted a good screwing right now, nothing fancy. Just a plain good old simple hop-on-top screwing. And there was a way for her to get that, all right.
Slowly Gert washed his limp cock and the balls beneath it. Reaching around him and spreading his buttocks, she stroked his crack and cleansed and soaped it, holding him apart as she turned him to the shower and let rivulets of water stream over him. As she washed his legs she pulled his cock into he
