He got a hand beneath her and played with her buttocks. She tensed and released them, tensed and released. Good instincts. Tension and release in itself stimulates the nerves, and as the man's hand caresses, one stimulation meets the other and as Hank had heard from other women the sensation is not merely doubled, but quadrupled, and it all gets together and runs through the tissues into the cunt.
He turned her over and kissed her ass cheeks and heard her sigh and murmur something to herself. Had she said, "Ah, I picked the right man to pop my cherry."? He was pretty sure she had said that.
Well, in modern times, kids married kids. Okay, but perhaps the old-timers had been right. In the old days, a man didn't marry till he was thirty-five or so. (What he did meanwhile was called sewing his wild oats.) But the virgin bride got a man of experience. He knew how to break a girl in and he knew how to keep her going on a torrid level of hotness. Good for both.
A gentleman of those days, like back when Big Ben was set up like a very large prick with a wristwatch, or prickwatch, a gentleman drank himself to death by the time he was getting gray. Then, when his still-juicy widow had his money, she had no trouble in finding another husband.
Maybe this unusual little girl's instincts were right. She had grown bored with her virginity, but the man she had chosen to cop her cherry was old enough to be her father. Yes, Hank had never had any trouble finding young girls to get on top of. Okay with him.
As he had with Helen Troy when she had been seventeen, he lost himself in Leona's fragrant, firm youthfulness.
Going suddenly at her breasts, he startled her into a cry of surprise and pleasure.
Why, he almost could get a breast into his mouth! There was only a circle of delightful breast tissue left over at the bottom, and while he tongued the nipple he played with the exposed part of the breast, circling it with his finger, poking it gently, smoothing it, moving his head up and down so that that titty-base was slightly compressed, then released, then compressed again.
And if Leona had thought she'd be able to keep her cool while he got his yearnings past the point of no return, and got her simultaneously ready to be penetrated, well, she could forget it. The youngster who had been so much in charge was in charge no longer. He had titillated and cunny funnied and kissed her and nipped her into a state of abandon that had her gasping for breath and throwing herself around in wild sexual writhings.
When he abruptly presented his prick to her mouth, she had it in and down her throat almost before he knew what was happening. With this time-honored act of the female's surrender to a special male need, she put the control of the fuck back into his hands.
The trick now was not to fill her mouth with come when he so badly wanted to. No, he wanted to slide a fresh and fully energized prick into the cunt where the cherry waited. He hadn't had a cherry for a long time. And where is the man who does not want to perform a deflowering!
She wasn't biting him, but she was holding him with her teeth in back of the bottom swell out that the prick-head makes the widest part of the apparatus. At the same time, because he was reaching down into her cunt and maddening the inner lips with his ministrations, she was making a kind of hum of joy. A woman with a prick in her mouth can't articulate sexy words, or sing the Song of Solomon, but she can get a hum going that vibrates the prick-head even if she doesn't know what she is doing.
The moment came at which Hank Hastings had to ask her to let go. He had waited almost too long. For an instant he stared down at his throbbing prick and tried to control it by wishing it not to come.
She too stared at it. If it had squirted she would have gotten a messy face. Probably would have enjoyed that. But after a few seconds of hanging at the very edge of orgasm, the semen retreated to its reservoir, leaving Hank shaken.
Now she wanted to please him! "You want me to do that again? I mean, get you awfully near coming and then you can subside and then I'll work you up again? Isn't that the way the Italian playboys do it?"
"Little girl, you do that to me again and you'll have to carry me to my plane. Little girl, prepare to lose your cherry."
"Just let me imagine something first," she begged. "Just let me imagine I'm lying on a bed of roses and you are not a human man, you are a satyr, with hoofs instead of feet, and tiny horns, and shaggy fur on your body."
Nothing like a classical education, Hank thought as he probed the shivering outer cunt lips with his restored and cunt-hungry pecker.
And got half of the head's length, no more, in-between the outer lips, letting the head bathe in virginal but plentiful juices.
He held the lips apart with his hand and pressed on into the pink passage to paradise.
"Do it," she whispered. "Do it."
She humped up against him. "Do it, oh, do it!"
The prick slid slowly in. The tissues stretched and made room. Talk about hot boxes! How hot would her box be after she had been fucked twenty times! Perhaps he could arrange to find out. When his prick met resistance he paused and moved the rod to one side and the other, probing.
"There, there!" she cried.
He pushed at the resistance. She did not cry out, but made hissing sounds, as though struggling to control pain. But it could not have been bad, because when the cherry gave way she humped up against him with all her strength to get him in deeper.
In just a few more seconds she got the jisum leaping out of his turgid prick in great gobs. But those seconds had been memorable seconds.
When he slowly pulled out a limp and satisfied prick, he saw blood on the sheet that they had rumpled with their sexual strivings.
"Well," said Leona, regarding the evidence, "we are Mr. and Mrs. William Watkins, newlyweds, aren't we? And by the way. You didn't even notice. Look. While I was shopping I even bought a wedding ring."
This little girl will go far, thought Hank Hastings.
He had a plane to fly, so he checked the time by glancing out at Big Ben. Five PM, Greenwich Meridian time.
Eleven AM in Chicago. Where he would arrive tomorrow. And catch up on fucking Helen, and that was really something to look forward to.