Llona gasped. She was hot, wet, aroused. She wanted sex. But she wanted revenge more. Deliberately, she maneuvered her hand until she could grab the sac which was the storehouse of his masculinity. She got a good grip on one of the swollen orbs there and squeezed as hard as she was able.
“OUCH!” Archer jumped and pulled away. “What did you do that for?” He surveyed the injured area and the now limp appendage in front of it.
“I didn’t do anything, dear. I just touched you the way I always do.”
“It felt like you were using a nutcracker!”
Llona giggled.
“No pun intended!”
“That’s funny. You were never that sensitive before.”
“Well, just take it easy, will you!” Nervously, Archer lay down beside her again.
Llona was ostentatiously gentle and considerate. She reached her hand down under the sheets, but carefully refrained from touching him. “Does that hurt?” she asked tenderly.
“Does what hurt? I don’t feel a thing!”
“Oh, dear!” Llona pulled her hand out and let it rest on top of the covers. “I was fondling you and stroking you,” she said.
“You were?” Archer was worried. “I couldn’t feel it.”
“Let’s try again.” She reached down and yanked his penis.
“HEY!”
“What’s the matter, dear?”
“What’s the matter? It’s not detachable; it doesn’t come off; that’s what’s the matter. Can’t you be a little more gentle?”
“I’m so sorry. I guess I’d better not touch you. But you can touch me. Go ahead. Maybe that will excite you. And when you’re ready, just—”
Archer followed her advice. With his genitals removed from further torture he slowly regained his confidence. He stroked the large breasts, traced the deep cleavage with his fingertips, dipped into the slippery moistness of passion’s perspiration beading there. He kissed her ear, the hollow of her neck, the curve of her bosom, the swell of her hip, and the deep navel of her flat belly. His tongue dipped all too briefly into the well of her womanhood and Llona remembered the scene with Shirley and even as her passion grew with the oral caress, she renewed her determination for revenge.
She writhed under his caresses. Her breathing became quick and deep and heavy. Her trembling thighs parted. Her eyes urged him on to readiness.
And then he was ready. Eagerly, he grasped the soft flesh of her upper legs and pushed them wider apart. He sprawled over her and lunged.
Calculatedly, Llona shifted her hips just a fraction to the right. It was enough. She knew satisfaction as she felt Archer’s passion blunt itself against the muscle of her left thigh
“Damn!” Archer drew back and plunged again. Llona, her timing exquisite, shifted the other way. Again the target eluded Archer. The weapon of his assault wedged between her right buttock and the sheet bunched up beneath her.
“Hell!” Frustrated, but even more determined now, Archer grabbed her calves and put them on his shoulders. Balanced on his knees, he dragged he; down until their organs were neatly juxtaposed. Then he leaned forward so that the target was enlarged.
Llona’s legs, on either side of his neck, were straight up in the air now. When Archer pushed home, there was no way she could avoid his assault. However, just when he’d finally hit the mark, she insured his dissatisfaction by blithely crossing her ankles.
Archer’s neck was between her calves. When she crossed her ankles, the effect was as if his neck had been caught in a vise which suddenly closed. He couldn't breathe. His face went purple. He couldn’t even say anything. Llona watched him for a moment, and then released him. Choking, grabbing at his throat, he fell away from her.
“Wha’. . . did. . .you do ... tha’for...?” He was finally able to gasp the words out.
“Do what, darling?” Llona asked innocently.
“Choke . . . me . . . !”
“Darling, I didn’t choke you. I was completely surprised when you ran out of breath. It’s not like you in the middle of making love.”
“I didn’t . . . run out of . . . breath! . . . You choked . . . me!”
“No I didn’t. Honest.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“You didn’t . . . cross your ankles?”
“Of course not, dear.”
“But then . . . wha’ hoppen?”
“Don’t worry about it, dear. It happens to lots of men when they get older. They just don’t have the wind for sex that they once had.”
“But . . . I’m not that old . . . am I?”
“Of course not, dear.” Llona soothed him. “To me you’ll always be as young as the day we were married. Only . . .”
“Yes? Only what?”
“Only I’m afraid you’ve--um—1ost it again,” Llona said delicately.
Archer looked down at himself. “God damn!”
“You really do seem to have a problem.”
“Yeah.” Archer was depressed.
“But it can be licked.”
“I'd rather you didn’t.” Archer declined nervously.
“Why not?”
“I have my reasons.”
“What are they?” Llona asked. “I’ll bite.”
“T hat’s what I’m airaid of.”
“Well, I’rn not going to just let you turn over and go to sleep all hung up this way,” Llona told him. “It’s not healthy.”
“What do you suggest?”
“If at first you don’t succeed . . . ” Llona blew in his ear. “Maybe it's a matter of exploring subsidiary erogenous zones,” she purred.
“ ‘Subsidiary erogenous zones’? I feel like I’m being made love to by the editor of National Geographic.“
“Shh.” Llona kissed the base of his neck. Then her hair trailed over his chest as her lips moved to his left nipple. Her tongue traced the cutlet of roseate. The tip hardened and came erect and she caught it between her lips. Archer caught his breath and squirmed.
I..lona’s hands moved over his buttocks. Her fingertips dipped into the cleft there. She probed more deeply and Archer writhed.
One of Llona’s hands slid over his hips to his stomach. Her nails scratched a pattern around his belly button. Then her index finger stabbed at the tiny orifice. Archer bounced.
“Well now! Look at that!” Llona cooed.
Archer looked. Llona’s ministrations had transformed the sheet covering into a tent. Eager to take advantage of this, anxious lest it follow past patterns and dissipate pre- maturely, Archer threw the sheet off and started to swing his body over hers once again.
“No, wait.” Llona said. “you tire so easily,” she reminded him. “I don’t want you to exert yourself. Let me do the work.” She pushed him back down on his back and straddled him. Teasingly, she poised just over the flagpole of his passion. “Are you ready?” she inquired.
“Yeah! Yeah! Hurry up!” Archer panted.
“Now?”
“Yeah! Yeah! Now! Now!”
“Ready or not, here I come!” Llona trilled.
“Come and gone if you don’t hurry up!”
“All right. Now!” Llona lowered herself. She did not lower herself slowly. She did not lower herself gently. She did not lower herself the way Archer had every right to anticipate that she would lower herself.
What she did was to slam down hard, with deadly accuracy, deliberately not impaling herself, hitting Archer’s Johnson with the bone of her left buttock like a rock snapping a twig, crunching his supplementary genitalia with the knack of an old-fashioned druggist wielding mortar and pestle. The result wrecked more than his passion. It was devastating. It damn near destroyed Archer’s equipment for good-and-all.
“Oooh.hhooohhhooohhhOOOHHHOOOHHH!” The shock was so great that his agonized reaction started with a low moan and grew in volume until it became a high-pitched shriek as the full extent of the pain was relayed from his testes to his brain.