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 6
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?