Chapter 1

Compliantly, Jill Carson let herself be eased down on the couch. She felt the upholstery, harsh and nubbly, scraping against her bare skin. Her nipples, pinched and tweaked to blazing readiness, felt stiff and swollen.

Cool air touched the sensitive insides of her thighs as she lifted one leg to the couch. She was on her back, and had one shoulder pressed against the back of the sofa. As she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes traced along the crack in the plaster.

Soft, steady waves of passion were sweeping through her soft, pale flesh. Her breathing was unsteady. Her lungs felt knotted and tight from lust. Her flat stomach was clenching and unclenching as Sam's hands probed her. His thumbs tugged across her tight pink tits, and her throat knotted with lust. Then he slid his hands down her torso, his rough palms scraping over her tender skin.

His fingers hooked into the waist of her lace-patterned panties. She lifted her hips, and felt him ease her underpants down over the swelling of her ass, the roundness of her lower belly. He was sliding them down her smooth thighs, down her legs; then they were gone.

She heard him suck in his breath as he studied her nude body. She was partially exposed. She knew he could see the soft brown curls of her bush, but not the rounded pout of her pussy lips or the dark shadow of her crack.

She tried to read his expression. There was a hot gleam in his dark eyes, a faint sheen of perspiration on his face. His teeth flashed between his lips-lips spread in a smile? or a grimace of lust? It was hard to tell in the faint light. His straight black hair was mussed from their lead-up to this moment.

Jill turned her thoughts away from herself and concentrated on the carnal need burning in her guts. She could feel hot wetness deep in her pussy, could feel the walls of her vagina pulsing hungrily. Her breasts felt swollen, her crotch hot and hungry. It had that delectable itch that just had to be scratched. And there was only one kind of scratcher that could reach it. No that wasn't quite true. There was only one way to scratch that itch, but there was more than one way to reach it, more than one tool that would do the job.

"I feel cheated," she murmured to Sam. "You have the advantage on me."

"Oh?" Sam was toying with one breast, his thumb running in circles around her pink tit, his fingers caressing the gentle soft swelling.

She fumbled the buttons of his shirt open, one by one, baring his hairy chest. "You're overdressed," she said, her voice husky.

"I guess I'll just have to do something about that," he decided.

She stretched out on her back, and let her hands roam over her breasts, loving the feel of her skin, loving the fire that was burning in her. Sam tdwered above her as he stripped. He was trying to be casual about it, but the fumbling haste of his hands gave him away. He bared his torso. It was muscular, hairy, and tanned. His shirt dropped to the floor as he unfastened his belt, and unzipped his trousers. The push of his cock tented out his underpants the minute he pushed his pants down. His big legs were covered with thick, black, curly hair.

He hauled down his underpants and bared his phallus. It bobbed and weaved its head like a viper, like a primitive predator searching blindly for its prey, for what it needed to slake its hunger.

Jill reached up and stroked its underside with gentle fingertips, as if trying to tame it. Hot stickiness burned her fingers, formed a gleaming strand between them. His prick was ivory pale from his thick black bush to the rift between the shaft and head. The groove there was shadowy black. The glans was dusky, looked almost brown in the faint light. A shining highlight made it gleam provocatively.

Sam sat down on the couch in the hollow her waist formed. He turned and slid one hand up the inside of one thigh. His fingers felt rough and harsh on her sensitive flesh. As she curled her fingers around his cock, Jill let her thighs slide open so he could touch her sweaty patch of hair.

His penis was rock hard, with a soft underbelly and a rubbery knob. She pressed and squeezed, measuring its bulk. It was about seven inches long, certainly no more than that. On the skinny side, as cocks went, she decided. Below it, the soft, hot sack of his scrotum shifted and squirmed at her touch. Probing very care fully, she located the two ropey tubes curling up from his testicles. She followed them until they disappeared inside his body.

His fingers pressed at her labia, and she felt them squeezing together from the pressure. The gentle compression against her clitoris sent a slow surge of heat through her whole crotch. She let her hips shift the way they wanted to, let them lift and twist. She was inviting him to probe deeper into her crotch, inviting him to seek the well of her sex with his finger.

He began to explore between her outer lips with the timidity of a person entering a dark room. He wiggled one finger into her slit, and moved it up and down, just barely spreading her hairy outer folds.

She stroked delicate fingers over the hard tower of his cock. She smeared her flesh and his with his hot, sticky oozings. She felt new waves of blood pulse into his hot, rigid pole as she caressed it. She curled her fingers around the rubbery knob and squeezed it gently, felt it yield to her pressure. A fresh, stinging wave of fluid welled out of the slit at the tip.

She licked her lips as waves of heat burned through her body. His finger went deeper inside her, spreading the inner petals of her hot, moist flesh. He kept a steady pressure on her mons with the rough palm of his hand.

Squeezing and milking his prick brought successive waves of hot lubricant which she smeared all over his hot meat. The heavy scent of sex was all around them. The smell made her head swim, her mouth water. She inhaled deeply-she never tired of the unique odor.

He was carefully torturing her with his finger, slipping it into her oozing vagina, wiggling it. He lashed the nerve endings there into fire, and her flesh watered as if it was trying to quench the flames. "I'm ready," she said softly.

"Hmmmm?" he asked, teasing, pretending he didn't know what she was talking about. "Put it in me," she urged.

"Eager beaver," he chuckled, wiggling his finger in her wet snatch.

"You bet," she agreed, tugging gently on his penis.

"I could bring you off this way," he pointed out, still tormenting her ready crotch with his finger.

"And I could bring you off this way," she retorted, pumping her hand on his towering erection. "But I don't want to do it that way. Do you?"

"No," he admitted, shifting and moving between her spread thighs. He drew his hand out of her cunt, and she felt her own hot, sticky juices smear her flesh as he cupped his hand over her heaving breast.

She guided his phallus to her crack. Wishing that she could see, she aimed it into her vagina by feel alone. She pulled at him, tugging him into her body. He held his hips up and away, letting her get only the tip of his prick in her. Bracing himself up on his hands, he gazed down at her nude body.

Then he pressed his phallus steadily into her steaming tunnel. Jill was set ablaze as his cock slid deep into her willing, eager body. There was that marvelous, stretching feeling as her vaginal walls embraced his hot tower. Then there was that feeling of fullness, a feeling like nothing else in the world, the feeling of a phallus entering her cunt.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jill could see the empty glasses, the ashtray overflowing with Sam's cigarette butts. All the accoutrements of the mating ritual were there, even though both of them had known exactly how the evening was to end, and what it was they both really wanted. They had gone through all the appropriate rituals that led up to the pistoning of a hot male member in a eager female orifice.

"Aaahh!" A sudden blast of pure pleasure caught Jill by surprise, wrenching the cry from her.

Everything faded but the alternating fullness/emptiness as Sam pistoned his cock in and out of her sucking vagina. With every thrust there was a crackling explosion as her clit was smashed between their pubic arches. Her hips heaved and jumped mindlessly. The itch of approaching ultimate ecstasy swelled and grew, pushing aside everything else. The world, everything, was waiting for that final eruption of searing pleasure.

It came. Her body arching, Jill's consciousness was tumbled in the turbulent wash of her coming. Clinging to the man on and in her, she was swept along in the seething power of her orgasm. Her vaginal walls spasmed around his cylinder. She was faintly aware of thick wads of hot semen spattering her inner flesh as Sam pumped his fluids into her hungry passage.

Then came the inevitable fall from the peak. Clutching at him, Jill writhed and squirmed in a desperate attempt to recapture the pleasure.

She blinked back the tears that threatened to drown her. Why the hell should she be crying? She hadn't really cried since that first time. She had been seventeen, just starting her senior year in high school. Her parents, reluctantly, had let her accept an invitation from her steady for a football weekend at his college.

"Are you sure this is all right?" she asked nervously as he opened the heavy entryway door for her.

"Yeah, sure," he answered, with the bold brashness of a college freshman out to impress his date. "I told you, women are allowed in our rooms until nine o'clock on Fridays and Saturdays."

Jill found some comfort in the knowledge it was not against the rules for her to be there. The stairway zigzagged upward. She let Bill guide her through the heavy fire-door and into a short hallway.

"GIRL EST THE DORM!" he yelled abruptly, making her jump.

"You don't have to brag about it," she giggled nervously.

"That's just in case someone's in the shower," Bill answered, motioning toward a wooden door. He led the way to the end of the hall and unlocked a door. "Here we are," he said proudly.

As Jill entered his room, she had the feeling she was crossing more than one threshold. She looked around the-small room curiously. It looked self-consciously meticulous. The bunk beds near the door were vaguely ridged, the covers drawn tight over the recalcitrant wrinkles. Two beds, two desks, two bureaus, and two desk chairs. That's all the furniture there was. Books were stacked with precise neatness on the desks.

"Where's your roommate?" Jill asked anxiously, not sure whether she wanted someone else there, or not.

"Showing his girl the campus," Bill answered easily. "We'll meet 'em at dinner."

"Oh." Jill looked around for a place to sit.

"Use the bottom bunk," Bill suggested. "Sorry about the lack of chairs, but this is supposed to be a single room. They stuff frosh in any old place. Would you like a drink?"

Jill sat down nervously on the bed. Her head just missed hitting the frame of the upper bunk. She put her purse on the floor by her feet, and crossed her legs nervously. "Uh, okay," she agreed. "But nothing too strong."

"Cantly is dantly, but liquor is quicker," Bill teased as he fixed her drink. The top of one bureau was fixed up as a bar.

"Bill-eee!"

"Just joking," he assured her. "Here, try this. It's a whiskey sour."

Jill sipped it cautiously, acutely aware she was unused to hard liquor. Reassuringly, it tasted like thick lemonade. She drank it a bit more boldly as Bill settled himself beside her on the bed. His arm went behind her, and the mattress sagged, tipping her against him. She felt warm, and comfortable, but there was a tight knot in her lower belly. She let her head rest on Bill's strong shoulder.

He moved suddenly, nervously. "Hey, how about some music," he suggested, lurching up. He fiddled with the record player, which sat on the wide windowsill by one desk. The first record was one they had danced to at his senior prom the spring before. "Want a refill?"

Jill looked at her glass and was surprised to see it was empty. "Uh, no," she decided. "That was a long ride. I'm feeling kind of tired."

"Kick off your shoes and he down if you want," Bill suggested, fixing himself a second drink.

Feeling slightly giddy, Jill stretched out, then carefully arranged her short pleated skirt. She rested her head on the covered lump of his pillow. Drink in hand, Bill came over and sat beside her.

"Hi, Jello," he said softly, using his pet name for her. They hadn't been together since their tearful, passionate parting late in the summer.

"Hi," she answered softly. Her heart was beating very quickly. She was lying on her back, looking up at him. She had her hands folded on her flat stomach. Her ankles were crossed primly.

"I'm glad your folks let you come," he said fondly.

"Me, too." She reflected that if they had known she would be here, like this, alone with him in his room, they would never have given their permission.

"You haven't ... kissed me yet," she pointed out softly, wetting her lips with just the tip of her tongue.

"There was kind of a crowd at the bus stop," he said lamely.

"That didn't stop most of the guys. You used to kiss me in public."

"Yeah."

"We aren't in public now," she urged tensely.

Setting his drink on the floor, Bill leaned over her. She closed her eyes as she felt him drawing nearer and nearer. She felt herself tensing up, and fought to relax. She didn't change her position, but kept her fingers laced together on her stomach, her ankles crossed.

The lips that touched hers were burning with a heat she had never felt before. She let her mouth open slightly, and his tongue eased between her lips, softly, shyly. The tip of his tongue explored her partially parted teeth. She met it with her own.

His hand touched her below her right breast, pressed against her cotton blouse. The kiss went on and on, their breath mingling with a soft sensuality as their tongues sparred gently. His hand slipped higher, touched the bottom of her bra. Hesitantly, it eased up to cover the gentle mound of her breast, as shyly and delicately as a breeze. It was almost as if he had never touched her there before.

She held herself rigid, afraid to move. The core of her being was a cyclone of unfamiliar sensations: blazing need, fear, and hope. Everything she had ever felt before was a pale reflection of what she was feeling now. The kiss became deeper, wetter, hotter. The hand on her breast became more firm, more anxious. The lace cup of her bra wrinkled uncomfortably.

Almost without willing it, Jill unlaced her fingers and put one hand around the back of Bill's neck. She held him to her, feeling the softness of his curly brown hair, the pressure of his chest on one breast, the heat of his hand on the other. She squirmed her legs against each other, trying to scratch the itch deep in her crotch.

Bill's hand left her breast, moved to the top button of her blouse. Her breath caught in her throat. She knew she should stop him. It wasn't that they hadn't ever gone this far before. It was that this time, she knew, there was nothing to stop him, or her. This time there was no chance of the harsh glare of a policeman's light shining in the car window, or the sound of someone coming down the stairs as they necked in front of the TV set.

The button slipped through the hole. She kept one hand on the back of his neck, the other palm-down on her stomach. She felt his fingers touching her skin, then fumbling with the next button.

The kiss went on, and on, and on. Their lips were slippery and wet, their mouths wide open as their tongues battled. He was bruising her lips against her teeth as he continued to undress her.

His hand was on the next button of her blouse, easing it through its hole. Then, hesitantly, as if he expected her to stop him, he slipped his hand inside her blouse, up and over the soft, wrinkled lace cup of her bra. She felt her nipple harden from the touch. His hand was separated from it by only one thin layer of material. The lace scraped over her tit as he circled his hand around on her breast. Then he probed his fingers along the edge of her bra, seeking an entrance.

Encouraged by her lack of resistance, he abandoned her breast and began working on the remaining buttons of her blouse. Her hand was still on her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. She could have stopped him right there, just by keeping her hand where it was. She could have kept him from reaching the last button of her blouse, kept him from opening it.

She eased her hand down to her side, and dug her fingers into the mattress as she felt the last button being undone. She felt her blouse pulling out of her skirt as he eased it aside to expose her torso and the white, tantalizing lace of her bra.

He broke the kiss and drew back. His eyes focused on her chest. His pupils widened with appreciation and his face flushed as he studied her.

"God!" It was more a croak than a word. He touched her bra-covered breasts hesitantly. Then he eased her blouse back over her shoulders. She lifted herself and let him slip it down her arms and off. When she settled back, his hands were trapped behind her back. His arms were around her, drawing him down to her.

Now, without her blouse being in the way, she could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. Their kiss quickly rebuilt to the same searing level of heat that their previous one had had. She felt his hands squirming under her. His knuckles and fingers were digging into her spine. He fumbled awkwardly with the hooks of her bra. Neither of them dared break the kiss to make it easier. Both of them were desperately hiding in the searing hot wetness of their osculation, pretending what was going on behind her back wasn't really happening.

She felt the band of her bra tighten, then loosen. She clung to him, tightened her arms around him. She felt as if she were being shredded by fear and excitement as the two emotions battled for control of her body. His hands wriggled out from behind her back, and then one squirmed between them. She felt his fingers burrowing upward, pressing her loose bra upward, digging into the soft flesh of her breast, then attaining the peak. The touch of his fingers against her bare nipple rocked her to the core.

When he broke the kiss and pushed up and away from her, her muscles were too weak to stop him, to keep him close. So she let him slip away from her. She kept her hands on him, as if touching him provided an anchor point in the storm-tossed world. She had her eyes closed. She let him untangle her from her bra, strip it down her arms and off. She heard him suck in his breath at the sight of her bare breasts, her pink nipples, and creamy pale flesh. Then his fingers brushed over her tits again, setting them ablaze, match heads rasped by sandpaper. Flame fire-balled out through her and triggered a flood of moistness in her crotch.

"Ooooh, Billy," she groaned.

"God!" he choked out softly.

She felt him moving, lowering himself. Then his lips touched her nipple and she thought she was going to die from the searing pleasure that tore through her whole body. Her hips shifted restlessly on the bed. He sucked on her nipple, rolled it against his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Her knees bent and flexed, her ankles uncrossed.

Fingers touched one knee, jolting her, terrifying her. But her body, a blazing pool of searing need, refused to obey her command to resist. Her knees sagged apart, and she felt his fingers slip higher on her leg, stroke the smooth, sensitive flesh on the inside of her thigh. Goose bumps spread along her legs from his feathery, scratchy touch.

He shifted his lips from one nipple to the other, leaving the first hot and swollen, setting the other afire by rasping it with his tongue. She curled her fingers in his hair, but there was no strength in her arms. She couldn't push him away or pull him hard against her.

His fingers moved higher and higher on her thigh. Her skirt slid slowly upward, baring her. Then fingers were pressing against her humid pantied crotch, caressing the soft steaminess of her pussy through the soggy lace. The touch opened her floodgates, and a hot, sticky wave of lubricant poured from her cunt. A towering wall of lust seared through her body, wrenching a soft cry from her.

She felt his fingers exploring the leg opening of her panties. Then, worming under the tight elastic, they pushed past her soft hairy labia, and probed her hot grotto, pressed into her slick folds, exploring ground they had never before been permitted to touch. Her hips writhed and twisted on the bed as wave after wave of passion engulfed her.

It wasn't enough. She had to have more, more, much, much more. The hesitant probing of her pussy by the fingers squeezing through the leg hole of her panties was triggering a roaring hunger in her. Prying her fingers loose from his hair, Jill reached for the button and zipper on the side of her skirt and unfastened them. Then, with awkward, writhing desperation, she heaved her hips up off the bed and struggled to get her skirt and panties off. She felt his hand pull away from her crotch as she struggled to bare herself to him as she had never ever before bared herself to any male. Writhing frantically, she kicked free of her skirt, panties, and loafers. Then she was naked except for her knee socks and the delicate gold chain around her neck. She felt cool air touching her entire body. Bill was staring at her hungrily, admiringly. Then a hot, rough hand stroked down her bare belly, and big clumsy fingers combed and tugged through her soft brown pubic hair, and a finger slid into her dripping, scalding slit. Her knees bent and her legs slid apart as his finger probed into her dripping hole.

"More," she sighed. "Put two in me."

A second finger eased into her tight vagina, increasing her pleasure. Her vaginal walls were stretched slowly wider. The pressure on her clit increased, but not enough. She reached down and put her own small, dainty hand on Bill's big hairy one, and urged him into her body, urged him to press on her clit.

There was an agonizing itch deep in her guts. And the touch of his hand, the probing of his fingers, made the screaming itch worse. Instead of scratching the itch, everything seemed to be making it greater.

Bill ripped his hand away from her hot, sticky pussy. She jerked and heaved as if she had received an electric shock. He pushed away from her and stood up. She was suddenly terrified. He was leaving her, he was going to leave her here, writhing with desperate hunger, naked and abandoned and humiliated. She blinked away her tears and looked up at him, pleading with her eyes.

He was standing next to the bed, staring down at her. His face was flushed and shining with sweat. He was panting visibly. His mouth was open as if he had just run a long, hard race. He was unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it back off his strong shoulders, throwing it aside. Then he was unbuckling his belt, unfastening his pants, shoving them down his thighs.

Fear ripped through Jill. She was naked, on her back on the bed, totally exposed to him. She tore her eyes away from his passion inflamed face, and stared at the spearing tower of his rock-hard penis. His shaft gleamed like ivory in the late afternoon sun. The pink/purple cap seemed to swell and pulse. She studied it fearfully. The column of blood-engorged flesh looked like a ferocious battering ram that would tear her wide open if he tried to get it into her tight pussy. But the itch in her belly had increased at the sight of his mammoth erection. And she knew that-that THING-was the only thing in the world that was capable of relieving the excruciating agony in her guts.

She saw him slip his hand under the mattress of the top bunk. It emerged holding a foil packet. He opened it with palsied hands, and pulled out a small pale white donut. Uncomprehendingly, she watched him place the opening of the donut on the end of his penis, then slowly unroll it, encasing his throbbing cock in a thin layer of gleaming slick rubber.

When he lowered himself onto her, she spread her thighs and her arms. Nothing mattered anymore but getting relief from the terrible hunger that was raging through her body. She felt something probing blindly in her crotch, stabbing bluntly first to one side and then the other, too high, and then too low. Prying her hand down between them, she found his condom-coated cock and placed the head of it in the entrance of her vagina. His hips thrust, and suddenly she was being filled by his wonderful heavy fullness. There was no pain, just marvelous fulfilling pleasure as he thrust into her virgin vagina, pressing past the shreds of a hymen broken years before by her own curious fingers.

Wrapping her arms around him, Jill urged him deeper into her body. His phallus rammed up into her, his pubic arch mangled her clit with blind ferocity, sending her ecstasy soaring still higher. Impatiently, he humped against her, pumping his cock in and out of her clinging vagina. She was soaring higher and higher with every pistoning drive into her belly. She had a feeling something was going to happen, something incredibly good. When that marvelous itch deep in her body was finally relieved, it was going to be with an incredible sunburst of pleasure.

Her hips were heaving and jerking in opposition to his. Her body was writhing and humping, meeting each of his thrusts. His hips were jammed between her thighs with bruising force. His hands were tearing at her, his breath was blasting in her ear with a sharp, hot chuffing sound. She was being pounded closer and closer to a blasting ecstasy of release.

Then he rammed hard into her, harder than he had before, and she felt him driving and pushing against her as if he was trying to split her open. His cock was pulsing and convulsing inside her, thick gouts of come were bursting against the restraining envelope of his rubber condom.

With panicky strength, she heaved his ass up, and rocked her pelvis against his. Instinctively she knew that if she missed reaching her peak now, she would be left stranded, short of fulfillment. If she failed to catch this wave, she would be left bobbing, far out at sea, far away from the pleasure she knew could be hers.

Then the pumping of the cock in her hole and the pulping of her clitoris between them sent her over the top. The lead car of a roller-coaster, she rocketed down in a clattering confusion of pleasure that whirled and tumbled all her senses. Her body strained in a joint-cracking arch, she tried to suck Bill's entire body in through the small opening of her vagina.

When it was all over, she cried, although she didn't know why she was crying. There was a feeling of something lost, and something gained. There was the feeling of a point passed, a childhood abandoned and adulthood attained.

"What the hell are you crying for?" Sam asked, jolting Jill back to the present, to the darkened apartment. Battling the memories and her snuffling, she shook her head. "I don't know. I need a drink." She sat up, and swung her feet to the floor.

While he mixed her a drink, she thought about the weekend with Bill. After the ice, so to speak, had been broken, it had been one long orgy. He had even had to buy more rubbers. That had been the last time she had seen him. She still wasn't certain whether she had avoided him, or he had avoided her. It was as if they had both decided that they weren't going to see each other anymore.

"Here you are," Sam said, holding out her glass.

She gulped half of it down immediately. "Would you like to try a second round?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Sam agreed happily. "Now that's my kind of woman! Goes straight to the point. Only trouble is, Baby, I'm not exactly up to it right now."

Jill tossed down the rest of her drink. "Well, let's give it a try." Twisting from the couch to the floor in front of him, she lowered her head to his lap and drew his limp, come-crusty prick into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around it, tasting her juices and his, she battered it to life.

. "Yeah," Sam sighed, gazing down at her head as she sucked his cock. His hand touched the back of her head, stroking her hair and forcing her down onto his cock at the same time.

His penis was swelling quickly in her mouth, burgeoning upward. She sucked and drew on it, pulling blood into it. Slipping her hand between his thighs, she caught his balls on her fingers and rolled them from side to side.

It seemed hours before his prick was fully erect again, though it was actually only a few minutes. When she had him stiff and ready, she straddled him, aimed his cock up into her pussy and jammed herself down on it, stuffing her vagina with its bulk. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, closing her eyes, she bounced on his lap, his cock stirring her twat to a pulp as it whipped in and out of her streaming cunt. She felt her breasts jarring and jiggling, her nipples burning as they scraped along his hairy chest. She concentrated on her own desperate hunger. Reaching down, she diddled her clit, and continued her frantic pumping on his phallus. It was there. The growing expectation of ecstasy was building steadily.

Sam's hands clamped down on her breasts. His fingers squeezed painfully into her soft flesh. The pain was a perfect accent to Jill's pleasure.

She was close to her peak now, close to the point where the tide of pleasure would break over her in a rush. Her pelvis was rocking wildly, making his cock flail around in her pussy. She was rubbing her clit frantically as she bounced and heaved on his tower.

"Yeah," Sam grunted. "Yeah, go to it, go!"

The only thing she could think about was her own coming. She wanted to come and come and come.

Her orgasm burst over her, a thundering wave of pleasure. She felt as if she were rotating around the cock in her guts. Flames of pleasure seared her soul to a crisp. She felt him spurting his cream straight up into her, a thick geyser that spattered her wet folds, streamed out around his phallus and glued them together.