Chapter 3
"Good girl, Molly. Suck it harder, baby, faster." Eric's breathing was more rapid now.
The whispered order did not fall on deaf ears. The still desirable thirty-five-year-old pleasure seeker again accelerated the tempo of her sucking. Now she was fellating feverishly, her head bobbing rapidly in Eric's lap like a buoy caught in a storm-tossed sea.
"Yes, suck it, gobble it all up, you beautiful bitch."
Molly moaned around the prick in her mouth. She realized immediately that it was a mistake, that another such moan would no doubt prove disastrous in that somebody, thinking her ill, would decide to investigate and discover her, not sick, but sucking.
But she couldn't help herself. She was wallowing in the wickedness of the act, relishing the sinfulness of it all. Eric's beautiful manhood was so delicious and so strong and demanding, that she regretted not be able to take all of it, every hot, throbbing inch of it, into her hungry mouth.
And she had decided to throw caution to the wind and let Eric blast his gooey load into her oral cavity. She wanted to be hosed with come, drowned in it, have her face rubbed into it until she could neither see nor breathe.
Less than a minute later, with Molly still sucking his tumescent tool with furious abandon, like a slut endeavoring to prove her worth, Eric came. A gasp, a sudden intake of breath, and then the ecstatic eruption, the thick, syrupy semen jetting from his happy prick, like a column of boiling water from a geyser.
Molly stopped sucking immediately, as soon as the first wave of come splashed against the roof of her mouth. She started swallowing. Frantically, with whorish delight, she swallowed, determined not to let a single precious drop of the gooey semen escape her mouth.
"Take it, baby," Eric rasped, struggling to keep his voice low.
The raven-tressed beauty did her level best to swallow all the gushing come. But her best, unfortunately, wasn't quite good enough. So much come was flowing from Eric's still-spurting shaft, that the overflow spilled out of her mouth to wash over his prick.
It squirted up into her nostrils, smeared her lips, flowed down her well-molded chin. But she continued swallowing, taking down her throat what she could. She knew she had been somewhat successful, for she could feel the sticky stuff, some of it anyway, slithering down her throat and into her tummy.
Eric's tool finally stopped spurting and Molly removed it from her now very messy mouth. Keeping her head in Eric's lap, she proceeded to rub the slimy and still reasonably hard member all over her face, taking the come around her mouth and chin and smearing it over other areas of her flushed countenance.
About a minute later, suddenly conscious of the fact that she had a cramp in her left leg, the one that had supported part of her weight while she was sucking Eric, Molly pushed herself up and slowly, with a sigh, swung back and around into her own seat by the window.
"Sensational, Molly," Eric said softly.
Molly rolled her head on the backrest, until she was looking at her devilishly attractive friend. "Did you like it?" she asked, smiling softly.
"I told you, it was sensational. Just great."
"I enjoyed it too," said Molly.
The writer smiled. "I gathered that much, beautiful," he said. "I think you're a born cocksucker."
"I haven't sucked that many. Yours is only the third I've put into my mouth."
"Well, it's obvious that you've practiced hard and long on the other two."
Molly dropped her eyes into Eric's lap, and seeing that he had not yet zippered up, suggested that he put his pecker away.
Eric stuffed his now all but limp tool back inside his slacks and zippered his fly. Turning again to the ravishing woman at his side, he asked if she didn't want to clean up.
"Do I look that bad?"
Eric chuckled softly. "Not bad, baby, but that's an unusual cold cream you have on your face."
"It's called Come Lotion," Molly said. "Very good for the complexion.
"Keeps the skin firm and smooth, huh?"
"And wrinkle-free," added Molly with a wink.
Chuckling again, Eric dug into one of his coat pockets and came up with a large white handkerchief. He handed it to Molly, who then set about wiping clean her come-coated face. The job took no longer than a minute, and the writer was soon stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket.
"Better?" asked Molly.
"Even more beautiful," answered Eric. He leaned over and gave the woman who had just pleasured him with an excellent blow-job, a kiss on her right cheek. Then just as suddenly, he was back in his seat and stretching his legs.
"What was that?" asked Molly. "My reward?"
"Your reward?"
"The kiss, Eric. Is that how you thank women who have gone down on you?"
"Hardly." The writer smiled
"Then how do you thank them, Mr. Marlowe, or should I say, Mr. Matthews?"
Keeping his voice low, Eric said, "I fuck the shit out of them, Mrs. Lawford."
Molly was not at all taken back by her handsome friend's blunt answer. In fact, she had been fishing for something like it, when she brought up the business of rewards. She didn't need to be reminded that she had not gotten laid yet. True, Eric had helped her get off with his hand, and a remarkably good orgasm it was, too, but her cunt still ached with the need to be soundly stuffed.
"Would I be wrong, in assuming that I have something very nice to look forward to?" asked Molly.
"If you're asking me if I intend to screw you, Mrs. Lawford, the answer is a loud yes."
"Where?" Molly wanted to know. "Certainly not here."
"No, not on the plane, beautiful. Besides, we'll be landing soon."
"Then where, Eric. Tell me."
"Hey, you really are eager for it, aren't you?"
"You'll find out just how eager, when we're alone," promised Molly.
"Which won't be very long now," said Eric. "If you have no objections, Molly, I thought we'd go to my hotel. I've made a reservation at the Hardington."
"Objections?" smiled the raven-tressed beauty, still able to taste the writer's slightly salty come. "What objections could I possibly have?"
Another grin lit Eric's tanned, rough-hewn face. "See? Didn't I tell you that married people traveling alone can very quickly get themselves in trouble?"
"But it's a nice kind of trouble," Molly quipped.
Without warning, Eric brought his right hand to Molly's knees, and then snaked it up under her short skirt. He cupped her sodden crotch, squeezing her needy twat, through panties soaked with her excitement. Molly let out a moan of pleasure, and immediately started squirming in her seat like a fish out of water.
"I only hope you can hold out till we reach the hotel," said Eric. "You're still hotter than hell."
"Better take your hand away," breathed Molly, "before I rape you right here and now."
"I could make you come again this way."
"No, I want to wait for the real thing."
The writer chuckled and pulled his playful hand out from under Molly's skirt. Molly quickly arranged the skirt so that it covered her thighs, with the hem resting a little more than an inch above her knees. Determined to get her mind off sex, she turned away from Eric and looked out the window.
She tried counting the stars, twinkling in a coal-black sky. She looked down at the eerie blackness that was, from this height, the Atlantic Ocean. Then she shut her eyes tight and tried to remember her itinerary. She had not bothered to plan her journey, however, preferring instead to play it casually, and make decisions at the last minute, so this was difficult. The only reason she had decided to visit England first, because a neighbor had returned from a vacation abroad extolling Londoners and their city.
As a last recourse, Molly tried to think about the family she had left behind, about her husband and her two sons. By now, of course, they had all three read the note. What were they doing, she wondered. Maybe nothing. Maybe they were too stunned to act.
Try as she might, Molly had no more success keeping her mind on her family or what used to be her family, than she had keeping it on the twinkling stars or the ocean below or her nonexistent itinerary. Her thoughts kept returning to Eric. To the beautiful prick he had promised to shove balls deep into her aching vagina.
Although it seemed like an eternity to Molly, it was only about an hour later that she saw the lights of London. After that, things went rather quickly. There was the fastening of the seat belts, the stewardesses checking to be sure the passengers were all properly prepared for the descent and cautioning them to stay put, and then the huge jet was turning, straightening out again, zeroing in on the runway.
The landing was so smooth that Molly didn't even realize the plane was on the ground until five seconds after the giant wheels touched down. The 707 taxied to the proper terminal, and then, a few minutes later, the passengers were spilling out of the aircraft, Molly and Eric among them.
Following the routine check at customs, Eric steered Molly out of Heathrow Airport and into one of the many cabs waiting outside. Molly sat close to the writer during the drive to the hotel, her hand playing in his lap, the sweet pleasure of anticipation enveloping her and keeping her eager, juicy vagina in a molten boil.
Arriving at the hotel, a neat, unpretentious building of ten stories located in the heart of London, Eric paid the driver, and then escorted Molly inside. He signed at the desk, got the room key, and then walked with Molly to the lift. Up to the ninth floor they went, Molly holding onto the writer's arm and thinking that it wouldn't be long now.
"Have you stayed here before, Eric?"
"Yes, quite a few times in fact."
"How many girls have you brought here?"
"Oh, I'd say about three hundred."
"Three hun-Oh, you!" Molly grinned, giving Eric a playful poke in the ribs.
While three hundred was obviously an exaggeration, Molly was willing to bet that the fellow about to fuck her had scored with a small army of randy females. Eric Marlowe was the kind of man who started a girl creaming in her undies.
On the other hand, she didn't think that he had ever brought to this hotel, a woman carrying over seventy-five thousand dollars worth of travelers checks in her shoulder bag. What would he say, she wondered, if he found out he had picked up a lady with a lot of loot to throw around?
The door of the lift opened, and Eric and Molly stepped out into a wide, carpeted hall.
"It's down this way, Molly," said the author.
"Let's hurry," said the black-haired lovely. She couldn't wait to get her clothes off. It had been so long, so very long, since she last got herself fucked good and proper. And she just knew Eric wasn't going to disappoint her.
Arriving at the room he had reserved, Eric unlocked the door and pushed it open. Molly entered first. It was a large, clean room, comfortably furnished, and with two French windows facing the street. What interested her the most, of course, was the bed. And there it stood, between the two windows, by far and away the most attractive piece of furniture in the room.
Eric closed and locked the door, dropping the key into one of his suit coat pockets, as he turned back into the room. No sooner had he set Molly's suitcase on the floor, than she was in his arms, grinding her tits into his hard chest as she planted her soft, supple lips over his firm ones.
It was a torrid kiss, fraught with meaning, with Molly ramming her tongue deep into Eric's mouth, pushing her pelvis up into his middle at the same time. She couldn't recall ever having kissed her husband with as much abandon. Then again, Martin was not at all like Eric Marlowe. By the time she broke the kiss, she was ready to sign over to Eric the seventy-five thousand dollars if he'd fuck the shit out of her.
"Wow, the lady means business, doesn't she?"
"Fuck me, Eric," begged Molly, pleading with her eyes as well.
The writers face turned hard as he looked at the cock-hungry beauty in front of him. "All right, baby, strip down and well see what we can do for you."
Molly took her shoulder bag and tossed it into the nearest chair, to the right of the door. Then she was fumbling with the buttons on her green blouse. After removing the blouse, and tossing it aside, she went to work on her brown skirt.
Eric, meanwhile, peeled off his blue suit coat, and walked with it to a straight chair near the bed. Draping the coat over the back of the chair, he loosened the knot of his tie, and worked it around and off his neck. His white shirt was next to go, and then he unbuckled the belt supporting his slacks.
Not surprisingly, Molly was the first one to finish undressing. Bare-assed naked, and with her scrumptious tits flopping about, she bounded to the inviting bed. Ever so quickly, she pulled down the satiny yellow bedcover, bunching it at the foot of the bed.
Into the bed she climbed, flipping over onto her back and then stretching out on the cool, white sheet. The mattress, she noted with pleasure, was good and hard. Her hands scooted downward, over the smooth flat plane of her stomach, and then dipped into the warm, sticky hollow between her thighs.
"Hurry, Eric, hurry!" she called across the room, looking at the almost naked man whose cock she craved with a passion.
The writer, also naked, arrived at the bed forty-five seconds later, his pecker on the rise. Molly was delighted to see that her friend was every bit as desirable without clothes as he was with them. His was an excellent body, strong and graceful and with no trace of excess fat.
"Let me suck it for you, Eric. I'll have it hard in no time, lover."
Eric shook his head and climbed onto the bed. "No, it's my turn now." He positioned himself between Molly's spread legs. "You know what I taste like-"
"No, I don't need that," Molly broke in. "You don't have to go down on me."
"Eric chuckled. "I know I don't have to. I want to."
"But I need your cock. Ohh!"
Eric, a man of action, was not one to dilly-dally, after he'd made up his mind. He made no exception in Molly's case, dropping quickly into a low crouch between her legs, jamming his hands under her well-rounded backside. He plastered his rough-hewn face against her soupy cabbage of a cunt before she could launch any meaningful argument.
And then he was licking lustily, his experienced tongue in constant motion, as it danced over Molly's sodden snatch.
"Oh, Eric, what are you doing to me?" the runaway housewife asked in a quavering voice. "Your tongue-your wonderful tongue!"
"I'm going to gobble you up, baby," said Eric.
"Yes, eat me, Eric. Chew on my cunt."
No novice was Eric, when it came to cunnilingus. Many a female he had tongued to a fare-thee-well, bringing them to orgasm in the process. Thus it was that now, with Molly, he was able to employ a technique well-tested and enthusiastically refined through the years.
The lust-charged beauty, needless to say, was more than a little delighted to learn first-hand all about the writer's expertise in the oral sex department. It didn' take her long at all to realize that here was a man who knew what it was all about.
Unlike Martin, who detested going down on her, Eric was performing not only skillfully, and with devilish cunning, but also with obvious pleasure.
He was laving her womanhood like a man accustomed to going down on girls, like one who very much enjoyed the practice. He was feasting on her down there, munching merrily on her smelly old twat, his marvelous tongue a wondrous tool of pleasure as it played over her pussy.
And now, now he was lapping up her juices, using broad, flat sweeping motions of his talented tongue to scoop up the lubricating flow from her hot, aching hole, and shoveling it into his mouth. There was so much for him to drink, too, for the syrupy stuff was just running out of her.
"Oh, Eric, I can't take any more. Please lover, you're driving me wild."
"You taste delicious," came a muffled voice from down below.
"No, more, Eric. Please fuck me. Ohhh-"
Ignoring the urgent pleas of the passion filled woman, the writer snaked his hard-working tongue between her slack, slimy pussy lips and up to her clitoris. Without delay he went to work on that all-important mini-erectile, his tongue lashing it, poking it, teasing it maddeningly.
"Oh, I'm going to come if you don't stop," moaned Molly arching up off the bed.
Eric, of course, didn't stop for a second. Cleverly, and with a master technician's touch, he tended to the beauty's passion nubbin and whacked away at the inflamed clit and then stroked it soothingly into a state of quivering submission.
Molly came, not once, but twice, one delicious, if not overpowering orgasm, following upon another gorgeous one. An animal-like moan of pleasure tore from her throat, and her hands, which she had placed on her breasts squeezed those beautiful melons of flesh something fierce.
But Eric wasn't through, at least not yet. With a desert rat's thirst, he slurped Molly's come, his tongue once again becoming a flesh shovel, scooping out the tasty flow. His strong hands squeezed Molly's buttocks together as he drank, his fingers digging into the smooth, taut flesh of her lovely derriere.
Then, finally, he was ready to penetrate the pussy he had eaten with such relish. He drew out of his crouch, and sat back on his haunches. Not surprisingly, his pecker was hard, rock-hard, and it jutted out from its hairy nest in eager anticipation.
Molly's twin orgasms, nice as they had been, had in no way dampened her desire for dick. She still wanted to feel in her mushy vagina, the slashing strength, the stretching fullness of a hard and throbbing cock.
And close at hand, so close she could almost reach out and touch, was a very fine speciment of just what she craved. Eyes glazed, she stared at the beautiful prick protruding from Eric's loins. And then, with her body in liquid tremble, she was asking for that tool, in a voice thickened by lust, and with words that were, to put it mildly, unlady-like.
"This?" Eric said with a lewd little smile, curling one hand, his right, around his meaty member. "Is this what you want, beautiful?"
"Yes, shit yes!"
"Then ask me for it."
"I am asking. Fuck me, Eric. Give me your prick."
"Tell me how much you want it," teased the writer, stroking his pulsating rod.
"I need it bad. I have to have it. Please do it to me. Now."
"All right, Molly, you've convinced me," grinned the pleasure-loving author.
So saying, he hooked his arms under Molly's legs and shuffled forward on his knees. Then he was draping her legs over his shoulders, bending her knees back, down toward her chest, as he directed his cock on target.
"Hurry, get it into me!"
Eric did just that, inserting the plum-shaped head of his sturdy root between Molly's pouting pussy lips and then without any further delay, ramming forward with his hips until all six inches of his tool were firmly planted in the mush softness of her viscid vagina.
"Arrgh!" groaned the raven-haired lovely, happy to have her cunt chock full of throbbing cock at last.
Eric started working his bloated manhood in and out of Molly's upturned twat, using hard, firm strokes to ream her heavenly hole. He kept his eyes on her face, the sight of it flushed and twisted by passion adding not a little to his enjoyment of the coupling.
"Oh, yes," Molly breathed, her head lolling on the pillow, "do it to me. Fuck it good, uggh!"
Positioned as she was, on her back with her legs draped over Eric's shoulders, and her knees almost touching her tits, Molly could feel every inch of his swollen prick as it came chugging up into her tummy. She was glad that Eric had elected to fuck her in this position.
Not only did she appreciate the really deep penetration of his tool, she also liked the idea that she was, bent over almost double like this, completely at his mercy. She was locked into the position, unable to avoid the hard, demanding thrusts of his digging dick.
She was helpless, vulnerable, her upturned pussy at the mercy of that hard, throbbing manhood. Eric could, if he were so inclined, keep her like this for hours, a prisoner of his pecker, digging and digging and digging into her until he had bored clear through her. It was a crazy thought, of course, but also a fantastically exciting one.
"You like it, baby?" asked Eric, grinning down at the beautiful woman he had pinned to the mattress. "Can you feel me fucking you?"
"Deep, so deep," Molly moaned happily.
"Too deep?"
"No, I love it. Do it harder!"
"Like this?" He lifted up and then crashed down against his partner's pelvis, his blood-fattened prick smashing deep into her pulsing cunt.
"Arrgh!"
"And this?" Eric repeated the cruel procedure, once again lifting up and then without pause ramming his hips downward to send his bloated manhood knifing into his partner's cunt.
"Ahh!" Molly groaned again, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he had bored a hole clear through her. It certainly felt as if he had.
Savoring the feel of Molly's wet, clasping cunt, Eric speeded up the tempo of his thrusts. He could not help but wonder about her husband, who, he thought, had to be some kind of nut. Only a real schnook, or a guy so naive it was pathetic, would let a woman like Molly travel alone.
Could be, of course, that her husband just didn't care what happened to her. If that were the case, then he had to be just about the biggest dumb-ass in the world. More likely, Mr. Lawford was one of those hard-working types who never have the time to take a shit, or the energy to take charge in a bedroom.
How else to explain Molly's randiness? In all honesty, he had not expected to get very far with her, when he sat himself down next to her on the airplane, but lo and behold, she had turned out to be one of the cock-hungriest broads he had ever come across, giving him a super blow job right there on the fucking plane. And now, here she was, grunting and groaning under him while he stuck her repeatedly with his joy stick.
With a little luck, he'd be able to talk Molly into hanging around for awhile. For a couple of days, say. After all, she did say that she was on vacation, and the appointment with Deputy Inspector Harold Parkington of Scotland Yard, which his good friend, Peter Cornwall had set up for him, could wait a few days. He might as well mix a little pleasure with business.
"More, lover, give me more. Fuck my hot cunt."
"Can you come soon, baby?"
"Yes, very soon," gasped Molly. "Let's make it together."
"Yes, together."
Molly's head lolled on the pillow as Eric banged his bloated bone into her slushy honeypot. Whimpers of delight interspersed with obscene language and grunts and groans, tumbled from her slack lips. She kept her hands clenched at his sides, her fingernails digging into the palms.
And then less than a minute later-
"Oh, Eric, I'm coming. Now!"
"Grab it, baby, go get it."
A mighty wave of excruciating pleasure washed over Molly. It was followed by another, and then another, the flood of ecstasy greater than anything she had experienced ever before, buffeting her body and breaking it into a dozen different shivering pieces.
All Eric needed was the sight of Molly coming, the feel of cunt quaking around his throbbing cock, and he was a goner. He came, defiantly, and with gut-jumbling intensity, the hot, scalding semen streaking through his prick and then gushing from the fat head as he delivered one last searing thrust into his partner's erupting vagina.
Trembling from head to toe, he kept his ejaculating rod in Molly until the last of his gooey seed had jetted into her womanhood. Then, his vision still clouded, he withdrew his very messy pecker and slipping Molly's legs off his shoulders, and setting them down on the bed, he sat back on his haunches.
Still breathing hard, he looked down at the raven-haired delight. A worried look came into his face, when he realized that she was lying very still not moving at all. That worried look, however, lasted but a few fleeting seconds, until he realized what had happened. Then he smiled.
He couldn't remember ever having fucked a female unconscious before.