The probing forefinger became moist and sticky and circled more widely, spreading the slipperiness, often returning to the orifice for more love-drool. The whispery touch of the slippery finger made every nerve in my body scream with joy. Her other hand squeezed rhythmically, encouraging love-goo to flow. Her forefinger often went back to the orifice. Her hand was as hot as my knob, and she kept squeezing and dabbling her fingers in my drool.
She painted my cock right down to its root Then she circled it with finger and thumb and frictioned up and down. My love-goo oozed copiously and her hand was bathed in it. The more slippery I became, the more easily she frictioned. And the better she frictioned, the more I oozed. When my prick was well-juiced up she used both hands, skimming them up my shaft, and slithering her goo-soaked palms across the knob. She was an artist. She knew to a hair-breadth how to rub me up without letting me come. My cock swam in prick-juice, and my balls floated. She cupped them in one hand and tumbled them around like slippery eels. Her magical fingers performed a wonderful variety of sexy tricks. She really did play with me! My prick was her toy. She massaged, rubbed, tweaked and frictioned. She had both hands stroking in opposite directions, while caressing my balls and my knob simultaneously; she gripped firmly and gave long, stretching tugs, and then nursed and stroked it soothingly, after its rough treatment. Again and again she almost brought me to the boil, but slackened off at the last instant. But my pleasure finally reached the explosion point.
She gauged accurately. "Darling," she whispered. Her hands were quite still, gripping my shaft restrainingly.
I gave a low groan.
"You're ready to go?"
I nodded dreamily.
"Give me a minute, darling."
The magic of her fingers melted away. I opened one eye. She adjusted her chair conveniently and crossed her legs so she could squeeze her pussy between them. She licked her lips in anticipation. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd tucked a napkin into her neckline. She reached out like a greedy kid lunging for a cookie. Both hands grasped the lower part of my shaft firmly as though she was scared it might jump off my lap. She took a deep breath and her head came down. Her lips parted and her open mouth hovered over my knob. She huffed.
I closed my eyes and cooed. My prick drooled. Her long, hot tongue curled around my cock and greedily lapped up the goo. She replaced the goo with saliva. It was like having my prick washed down and repainted. She saved the knob until last, licking it clean, pursed her wet lips into a big pout and pressed the pout down upon my knob. The pout slithered over my knob and then it was bathed in a swirl of hot saliva.
My prick gave a great lunge and almost escaped her detaining hands. It rammed deep into her pout and its knob almost plugged up her throat. She jerked her head up, still clutching my shaft with a powerful two-handed grip that ensured no more prick-thrusts. Then she held my knob lightly in her mouth, swirled her tongue over it, bathed it in saliva and sucked gently.
Heaven was my big, fat prick simmering in the mouth of a girl who sucked like an angel. This was heaven. Janet sucked like an angel.
I lay upon a hazy cloud of exquisite sensation, floating ever higher while her swirling tongue promoted me ever upwards, deliriously swirling in hot saliva with delicious tonguing until I was not drifting, but soaring, faster and faster, speeding like a jet plane that's turning into a rocket with all-absorbing suction to which I yielded wildly, spurting and spurting, jetting higher and higher with every spurt while the wild stabbing of my prick was beautifully restrained. My prick reared up like a maddened bronco but her powerful, two-handed grip mastered it. She clung to the monster, absorbed its unleashed strength as it surged out at her, sucking and swallowing hot liquid oysters with loud soup-gulping relish.
Her hands and mouth clung to my prick like a clam. My spasmodic, spurting convulsions tried to tear me free. But she clung tenaciously, possessing me completely, and sucking like an angel. As I spasmed, she sucked with the same degree of suction that I spurted. Her body became part of mine, and what I fed into her mouth she swallowed as though it was hers. As my spasms diminished her sucking adapted, gearing down intake to synchronize with output. When I lay back limply, her cheek rested upon my abdomen and my flabby cock nestled happily inside her mouth. She gave me precisely the right amount of time to recover, then pulled my knob out of her mouth. She sat up straight. "Do I suck nicely?"
"The best ever."
She reached for a hand-towel, wiped a streak of come off her chin and then cleaned me up. She dried my short-and-curlies, playfully tweaked my balls as she wiped away her saliva and then wrapped up my limp cock in the towel. She squeezed it to dry it, as gently as a mother handling her babe. She tucked my prick away inside my jockey-shorts, arranged them carefully, zipped up my pants and' buckled my belt. "You came beautifully, Mike," she approved. "I couldn't have swallowed another drop." Her eyes glistened. "It's a lovely flavor. It's got me all excited again."
As she re-arranged her chair I saw a wet stain on the back of her skirt. Her pussy-squeezing thighs had yielded results.
She sat facing me, legs spread wide, her shoulders braced against the chair and her arms hanging limply. She closed her eyes. "Lick me," she sighed.
I knelt and slid up her skirt. As I lowered my head into a hot musky mist of pussy-fragrance I reflected that playing with each other was a lot of fun. But I wouldn't get much work done.
Then as I closed my eyes blissfully and the tang of musky cunt tingled on my tongue, she spoiled everything.
"It'll be wonderful after we're married, Mike," she said dreamily. "You'll be able to do this every night!"
Chapter 4
I saw Ruth every Wednesday evening. She was twenty-eight, blonde, curvaceous and… comfortable!
She lived on the fifth floor of a high-class block of residential flats. I strolled around the block first to make sure the coast was clear. Ruth's husband visited his factory in the Provinces every Wednesday. He stayed overnight. If there was any change in his plans, Ruth placed a book on the windowsill hi front of the curtains. Tonight, as on most Wednesdays, there was no book in the window. So I rode up in the elevator and rang her doorbell. She was expecting me, freshly bathed and perfumed and smelling of honey-dew and roses. She'd placed glasses and a bottle of Scotch on the bedside table, and a bowl of ice-cubes. She sat me down on the bed and stripped off her negligee. All she wore under it was a wispy, transparent slip. It concealed none of her nudity, but tantalizingly draped her nakedness.
Ruth was older than me but very sweet and… comfortable. Her motherly tenderness permeated our love-making. A man needs variety in his fucking. A switch of cunt is important to him. A woman's character shows in the way she fucks. A cold and callous bitch, even if she's as hot as a stove, betrays her selfishness even when she's gasping and writhing in the throes of climax. Her fingernails claw into your buttocks, showing she doesn't care a damn about you so long as she gets what she wants. The clinging-vine type of girl, who's all surrender, submissive and dependent, shows it down between her legs. Her pussy clings submissively, whining for love and affection, even while you're pumping spunk like a maniac and stuffing her full of it.