Bob whipped his pants open and his prick came charging out like a wounded buffalo.
"Buzzz," he intoned, as he moved to the couch and knelt behind Amy's heaving buttocks. The background noise undulated from his lips, rising and falling. His cock seemed to be humming, too. The stalk was so taut that it had started to vibrate like a tuning fork and the bloated knob was pealing like a bell. It swayed like a conductor's baton.
He tapped the head against her ass. Amy looked over her shoulder.
Bob raised his eyebrows, buzzing merrily away and Amy gave him a smile of affirmation. But her cunt was occupied by the plastic pecker and could not accommodate another tenant.
Bob placed his hands on the cheeks of her ass and spread them open. The globes spread, revealing her taut hole. He placed the tip of his tool against that tight hole and hesitated for a moment, but Amy made no objections.
Bob began to push his cockhead up her piss-hole.
Getting interested in this prelude to buggery, he forgot to buzz for a moment.
"Hum, damn you!" Amy wailed as she lustily crammed the false cock up her snatch.
"Hummmm!" Bob intoned, and, inspired by the sound effects, Amy began to wriggle her juicy ass against him.
Bob had never buried his dick up an asshole before but the technique seemed simple and he doubted very much if he would be broaching virgin ground. He pushed and her hole fluttered and loosened. He fed her half his knob and paused, buzzing steadily away all the while. She wriggled and heaved, as if trying to impale herself upon his spike.
He grasped her by the hipbones, holding her ass steady, and began to forge his passage into her bowels.
The fit was snug at first.
Then her asshole relaxed, accommodating itself to the bulk of his big dick, and he plunged in to the root.
Amy squealed with pleasure.
Bob held that full penetration for a moment. She was still pushing the vibrator up her pussy and he could feel the hard plastic tool skim over his cock, separated only by the delicate membrane that divided the twin tunnels.
Then he began to fuck into her ass with gusto.
His hips corkscrewed as he shoveled his big pecker into that tight crevice and his spunk heavy balls swung in like a bell, slapping into her vibrator-filled crotch with a juicy smack.
Her asshole rippled on him with some magical reverse peristalsis, as if she sought to ingest him from the nether end, pulling his meaty peckerhead right up into her belly. She was slamming her ass back hard as he ground the hunk to her, then rotating her hips as he drew back, so that her channel was working on his departing prong like a wringer.
Bob, potent fellow that he was, was never far removed from the heights of orgasm.
He tried to hold back, waiting for Amy.
But Amy was inspired threefold – by his cock up her asshole, the vibrator up, her cunt and, as important as any, the steady humming sound he was making.
She cried out as she started to cream.
Bob pounded violently up her hole, his knob rushing into her bowels. He churned his big rod around just as if her asshole were a bowl and his dick a whirling blender, whipping the contents of her loins to heavy cream.
He shot, his hips recoiled as the hot jet sped from his cock head and hosed her bowels.
Her cunt overflowed, juice running down her slick thighs in banners and ribbons.
Bob poured a second hot jet into her ass, then a third, weaker, a mere trickle.
He drew back and his cock popped from her ass. Her asshole clamped shut and cum bubbled out and ran down into her crotch, where it blended with her cunt juice in a concoction that no blender had ever managed.
Amy continued to push the vibrator up her hole until she had milked out the final ripples of her climax. Then she slid forward, her thighs collapsing, and lay on her belly. She looked back at Bob with a happy smile.
Bob realized that he was still buzzing. He seemed to have got into the habit. He stopped, switching his vocal chords off as if they had an electric switch.
"Gee," she said. "That was fun."
Bob left shortly thereafter, wishing the remarkable woman good fortune with her landlord and her problems. He worked the rest of the afternoon, making one sale and encountering no more women who required his services. Before he went home he stopped at a public restroom and washed his cock clean of the incriminating evidence, for he figured it would be disastrous if his bride were to discover that he had been less than faithful.
When he got home, Colleen was waiting. When he asked her how she had spent the day, she smiled mysteriously. But she told him she had visited with Carol and Jennifer, which was true enough.
They had a fuck before dinner.
Halfway through the fuck, which was a missionary-position job without embellishments, Colleen looked up at him with a mystified expression.
"Why on earth," she said, "are you making that peculiar buzzing sound?"
CHAPTER NINE
It was Friday morning in Blackheath.
Everything was normal on the surface. Fred Foley did not have the time or inclination to ball Jennifer, who did not object as strongly as usual. Morgan Davis awoke with a huge hard-on which he tried, without success, to slip into Carol before she was fully awake. Bob Harrison, potent newlywed that he was, poured two morning fucks into Colleen.
Colleen said to Bob, "Oh, by the way… Fred and Morgan usually go out Friday nights, just bowling or something. But the girls wanted me to ask you if you'd like to go with them tonight."
Bob wasn't at all sure about that.
"Can we afford it?" he asked.
"Sure," said Colleen.
"Well… all right," he said.
Colleen went to the telephone. "I'll call the Foleys before Fred goes to work and let him know that you're going with him and Morgan tonight."
"Fred says for you to meet him at his office at six," she called to Bob. "Is that okay?"
"That's fine," said Bob.
And so the groundwork was laid.
Bob went to work at noon.
Later, bubbling with eager expectations, Colleen put on a sexy dress and trotted over to Carol's house, where Jennifer was already waiting and the three women were so thrilled at the prospects before them that they didn't even have a single cunt-sucking session before they left for the city.
It was, naturally enough, Friday in the Moonglow, too, although days did not mean much in that place. The usual collection of winos were scattered around the bar and tables at varying degrees of inebriation. It was a typical day at the Moonglow.
There was, however, one man at the bar who was not one of the regular customers.
Joe Henry stood with his back to the bar, elbows up, a long thin cigar tilted up from his teeth. He wore a Stetson pulled down over his eyes and a soft buckskin outfit, which was molded to his powerful young body like a second skin.
Joe was unhappy. Until earlier on that day he had been the lover of a married lady who had taken care of him very nicely. Then, that morning the lady's husband had followed her to the little room she had rented for Joe and found Joe stuck up his wife's pussy. That had been that. Joe had been slung out on his ear onto the streets.
He finished his drink and was just about to leave when three women walked in.
Joe looked up with interest. The women looked ultra respectable. He figured that either they had wandered into the place by mistake during a shopping trip or else they were slumming.
They looked around uncertainly.
Joe expected them to leave but they surprised him by taking stools at the bar. Slumming, he thought. They ordered martinis. Jack the bartender had to get his guide out to find out how to make a martini. This was not a great help because he was illiterate. One of the women told him how to do it but he had no cocktail shaker. He had not a single olive. They settled for a gin with a dash of vermouth poured in. They sipped their makeshift martinis and looked around the room.