Matt's belt lay on the floor where it had fallen. But the backwoods Picasso kept wielding his paintbrush, rubbing his stiff prong over the welts he'd just inflicted. Tremors passed from his thumper up to his torso and he had that I'm-gonna-shoot look.
“Please, Matt! Don't waste it. Come in my mouth!”
Groaning, Matt pressed forward, forcing seven or eight inches of blood-soaked buzzer down Jon's throat. He was poised to insert the remaining half-foot when dainty hands pulled him back.
“Let me suck it!”
Margo didn't have to ask twice. Matt took back his treasure and presented it to the lady. She couldn't have taken more than half of it with any degree of comfort, so presumably she was momentarily discomforted. It didn't take more than a moment, if that. Grunting louder than before, Matt unloaded. Margo fell back on the bed, across her husband's knees. Hot gism dribbled down her lips. She looked like one exhausted cocksucker. The morning after.
Jonathon offered an ever more pitiful spectacle. Still bound, thrashing weakly, thwarted. In that depressed state, he spied Ernie, who had wandered in to witness the action. “Be a good kid,” he pleaded, “come in my mouth.”
How can you refuse a guy when he's down. Ernie paused only to murmur naively. “Gee, I didn't know fellas did it.” Brushing past Margo's outstretched curves, he jabbed his standing tool between Jon's lips. In a burst of energy, the lady from Baltimore stood up. Delicately opening Ernie's butt, she proceeded to eat it.
I protested. “Hey, if you're in a rimming mood, my ass is much prettier.”
Margo stopped chewing; she regarded me coldly. “I am not merely rimming, Douglas. Can't you see that I'm helping my husband?”
Jon didn't need assistance. He gobbled Ernie's goober greedily as the former bellhop pumped with typical teen-ager vigor. Ernie moaned, “I'm coming!” as if he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that a male throat could bring him to orgasm. Finally, he withdrew, thanking Margo politely, staring at Jon in amazement.
Jon was smiling. Slowly, his lips parted and he started disgorging what looked like a triple load of boy cream. Highlighted by specks of saliva, down his chin, down his chest, in multiple rivulets. Margo had warned me once of his tricky penchant for not swallowing like a gentleman.
Ernie's expression hardened as his dong softened. “Hey! That's my gism!” he said, apparently recognizing his own product. “You fuckin' cocksucker! You're supposed to swallow it!”
He smeared his hand in the mess, trying to force his fingers into Jon's mouth, using his other hand to pummel him. I pushed the kid away with some effort. “Enough of that! He's taken plenty of punishment.”
Try to rescue a cocksucker! As I bent over Jonathon to save him, he twisted his head so that he was able to lick my labe. That wasn't on my schedule, but I hastily modified my agenda.
“Suck it, you bastard! If you spit it out, I'll beat the shit outtayou!”
Margo didn't rim me while I fucked it into him. She couldn't catch me. I like quick blow jobs. I gave Jon's larynx a fast battering, followed by the usual salty emission. He swallowed, all right. If your cock is down far enough, they have to swallow or choke. Ernie couldn't be expected to know that. He'd learn though, now that he was under our guidance.
Having taken on nearly a yard of cock at one end or the other, Margo was enjoying the outing. With wifely devotion, she asked Jon, “Was it good, dear?”
Jon considered before speaking. “Of course, I haven't actually tasted Matt's yet, but I'd say Doug here has the richest cream in this part of the country. Such body!”
Margo wagged a playful finger in my direction. “Naughty boy! Do you realize you haven't given me a proper load since I met you!”
Although I didn't have a load on tap, at least not near the surface, I bowed courteously. “My apologies, madam. You're welcome to it.”
The giddy brunette giggled merrily, trying to conceal her eagerness. She took my hang in her mouth. Three other schlangs, in various states of stiffness, were soon lined up, awaiting her attention.
The latter seemed mildly surprised to find his own wife's tongue adhering to his ramrod. He disengaged himself, whispering, “We can do this any night in Baltimore, Margie.” Aloud, he said, “It's been a delightful evening. I want to keep the memory of every hole fresh in my mind, so if you'll form an orderly line, please, I promise to leave no opening untended.”
No one cared to fuck up Jonathon Rawlings's memory book. So we lined up like cattle, including his missus. Jon worked his way down the row, performing the ritual slowly, as if he wanted to retain the taste, feel, and texture on his sensitive tongue. He lingered last and longest at Beth's round, white bottom.
Matt had expected a full-fledged rimming and must have felt somewhat disgruntled. In a surly voice, he boasted, “You ain't seen the freshest hole in the whole fuckin' set-up.”
“Meaning?”
Without answering, Matt stormed out to the secluded clearing where Debbie's cot had been moved earlier. He came back with the little girl cradled in his arms. Matt may have been immune to underage charms, but his oversized whopper was rising.
“Who's that?” Jonathon wondered.
“My kid sister.”
Debbie's sleeping togs consisted of a pair of cotton panties. Matt eased them down without waking her. He spread her chubby legs. “Don' look like much, but that's a hole, ain't it?”
Jonathon peered at Debbie's tiny, bald slit. He began to sweat, and the nitty-gritty rose to the surface. “C-could I lick it?”
He reached out to grope the unformed cunt, and at that moment Debbie woke up screaming.
Debbie's mother stepped in to slap the girl. The screams redoubled. Jon's pole lengthened. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips and hung out taut for a licking.
Meanwhile, the tycoon hunched over the baby, ardently lapping her pudgy thighs, steering northward. He sucked in earnest, not missing a stroke as Matt set her down on the mattress. Suddenly, Debbie became quiet. Tranquilized if not bewitched.
Jon moved on to kiss Debbie's little bottom. His restless prick waved near the tiny slit. Perilously near. On it, I thought-Debbie, say goodbye to your girlhood. I'd underestimated Beth's fierce surge of maternal protection. To save her daughter from an almost certain spearing, the blonde valiantly offered her own services. Her appeal sounded familiar. “Fuck me,” she begged, subtly stressing the me, sitting on Jonathon's labe in a far from subtle manner.
The bearded man's dick had been turgid since his entrance with Debbie. He attempted to plug Jon without the use of a lubricant. He found a road block. “Whassa matter, queer, didncha ever have it? Hey, Doug, help me open this bastard!”
Murmuring a perfunctory, “Sorry,” Margo allowed my whang to slip out of her mouth. “Let me help,” she said. If her husband was maso-oriented, Margo had a full measure of complimentary sado components. Gloating, she helped tear Jon's ass open. The entry didn't look much bigger to me but, crushing resistant muscle, Matt screwed the swollen head of his schlang in.
Jon bleated like a pig in a slaughterhouse. “You'll kill me! You'll kill me!” He abandoned Debbie, abandoned Beth in mid-fuck. Mother and daughter added assorted cries to the pandemonium, and the walls of the cabin shook.
Displaying mature judgment, Debbie washed her hands of the perverted proceedings. She crawled back to her cot in the clearing. The solution wasn't so easy for her mother. Ruthlessly left to her own devices, halfway over the hill, Beth needed a helping hand. True, her hand revolved in her twat, but a nympho sniffs at fingerfucking. Ernie made himself useful. Not with his fingers.