I climbed over her thoughtfully. I was learning a lot today. Sex is supposed to be fun. A man, and a girl, and long hours of ecstatic bliss. But marriage changes all that. The woman offers herself up to sensory stimulation while the man labors with fingers, mouth and prick to provide her pleasure. If he happens to shoot while he's doing it, he's earned a bonus.
"Don't make me come too quickly," she warned. "Make it last."
My pride insisted I should break up this one-sided session. But my bastard prick hadn't any pride. It was eager to snap up any trifle thrown to it. So I juiced up my knob in her pussy crevice, pressed it against her vagina dimple and slid in slowly. Her breasts were sweaty under my chest and her damp hair tickled my nostrils. But my prick twitched contentedly now it was sheathed in the sticky sleeve of her vagina.
"Screw me," she whispered. "Screw me slowly." She sounded like Ruth, lying there limply and wanting the nail hammered home. And she didn't flex a muscle! That was serious. She has a crevice as big as Ruth's if she doesn't tighten it up. It was the way Lillian straddled me and tightened up her vagina like a strait jacket that made screwing with, her so perfect. But tonight it was different. She was breaking me in like a house-pet. Now the wedding date was fixed I had to learn to screw the way she wanted. My prick pistoned up and down inside her non-gripping vagina a dozen times. "Tighten up a little?" I whispered.
"Not with me under you, darling. And it's so lovely this way, isn't it?"
"You don't want to get on top?"
"I want you to enjoy yourself. This is just right! Screw me!"
I tried. My knob skimmed up and down in hot pussy-juice. But I couldn't tell by touch that I was even inside her pussy. "Lovely," she panted. "Lovely." Like Ruth, she stretched her love-lips apart so my pelvis applied rhythmic pressure to the union of her love-lips.
The Sexual Treadmill!
I wouldn't ever come this way. I thrust in and out magnificently, tossing myself off against nothing. She mewed with delight but my prick whimpered in frustration. It was all wrong. Men are supposed to get most of the fun out of screwing a girl. But I was sweating like a miner in a salt mine, while she mewed with pleasure. It could go on all nightor forever, if something didn't happen! She was so far away into dreamland even fitting her wedding dress wouldn't get her off the bed. My prick stabbed in desperation and my knob wept despairingly.
"Tighten up a little," I pleaded.
"That's just right, darling," she panted. "Lovely! Screw me, Mike. Screw me silly." There was only one alternative. My dream girl. That's what wedding bells came down to. A dream girl. I concentrated and pictured her in three dimensions and. three colors. My mind was a roving camera prying into every nook and cranny of her beautiful body ax I undressed her, zooming in for microscopic close-ups of exquisite plum-coloured nipples, so taut the wrinkles were strained out. And her navel, a deep, dark, dimple glowing with the mysterious secrets of woman. And her pussy. Her luscious, red-hot crevice, steaming with passion and wafting the musky aroma of pussy into my nostrils. And lovely wet, love-lips clamping around my knob, clinging and frictioning deliriously, faster and faster until I was crazy with the upsurge of spurting, that was spurting, spurting, spurting!
Lillian howled. Her arms and legs flung around me. She clung hungrily, an octopus absorbing me into her maw. Her loins sucked, while her belly rippled, flowed and washed over me like a hot tide. Site squeezed every last drop of spunk from me and then collapsed.
My prick twitched resentfully, insulted by pseudo-screwing that wasn't far removed from masturbation. It hunched itself in disgust and let itself tumble out into the sticky coldness of the outside world.
"Lovely, Mike," she whispered. "Well always do it this way."
I grunted.
"Well make time for it, Mike. Even if you are home late it's worth losing a little sleep, isn't it?"
I grunted.
She sat up abruptly in great alarm. "My dressmaker. I'm late." The wedding gown was suddenly the most important object in the world. She sprang off the bed and in her haste wiped her pussy on the bed sheet. She pulled on her clothes frenziedly. "Walk me to the subway, Mike," she ordered.
She could have coaxed me to lie back and relax, since she had to hurry off. But no. The wedding date was fixed and my role was being clarified. I must escort her around to prove I was a worthy husband.
Wearily, I reached for my trousers.
Chapter 9
Escorting Lillian to the subway was a turning point in my young life. Straws can be placed one by one upon a camel's back until it finally breaks. But I was more like a donkey before its legs buckle.
I escorted Lillian to the subway station, bought her a ticket and waved after her as she hurried to catch a train. She'd given me a gentle loss on the cheek at the barrier and her last words had been, "Don't worry. I'll fix the night watchman's job." There was a jaunty spring in her step. She was no longer bothered by a hot and itchy pussy. When she disappeared from sight I turned away from the barrier and found myself face to face with Carol.
My belly lurched. I mustered up a sickly smile to meet her accusing glare. "Hello, Carol."
"Who's that girl?"
I gestured airily. "A girl from the office."
"Do all the girls in your office kiss you?"
I frowned and tried to look unjustly accused. "Now wait a minute, Carol. Don't make a big scene out of nothing."
"She did kiss you!"
"On the cheek. Only a peck. It's… sociable!"
"You've just left the office?"
"Working late," I confirmed.
"I've rung and rung," she snapped.
"We don't answer the 'phone after hours."
"We must talk, Mike," she said flatly. "Let's go to your pad."
"Dave's on leave. He's using the pad."
"I don't mind Dave hearing what I've got to say, It's terribly important!" She was quite capable of causing a scene in public. She was in a terrible mood.
"All right, Carol," I soothed, "But if Dave's busy you'll have to pacify him."
"Don't worry," she said grimly. "I'll deal with him." She held my arm with the possessiveness of Lillian.
Carol was sweet but sexually out of step with me. It's rarely possible to know if a girl is physically right the first time. It needs half-a-dozen sessions to form a sound opinion. I'd learned Carol was passable if I was very randy, and if there wasn't other pussy around, but as a regular screw she just wasn't in my league. But it's difficult to explain all this to a girl. Once they get the taste of hot cock, and get stars in their eyes, they can't listen to reasonable arguments. Carol was so highly strung and emotional I hadn't even tried to talk to her frankly. I'd simply faded out of her life. I hadn't seen her in six weeks. When she'd telephoned the office I wasn't there. Those times I'd unluckily answered the phone myself, I'd said I was busy and would ring back. In time, she'd have got the message and stopped telephoning. But escorting Lillian to the subway station was a turning point in my life. Carol happened to be at the same subway station!
"You haven't tried to give me the brush-off, have you, Mike?" She held onto my arm with fingers of steel.
"Don't be crazy," I blustered. "I've told you how it is. We're rushed off our feet. We're cutting discs for three albums. Then there's the publicity to send out to the provinces. I haven't even had time to crap."
"I was hurt," she confessed. "It's so long since I've seen you. The days have dragged!"
"I wanted to telephone. But it's been hell. Like now. I've just finished and I'm ready to drop. All I'm fit for is to curl up in bed."
"I won't keep you long, darling. But there's things we must settle." There was suppressed urgency in her, like she too had a hot, itchy pussy. She was almost dragging me along. She knew the way to the pad better than me.