Chapter 14
"I suppose that was the only decent thing that I've ever done in my life," George mused as he stared out of the train window into the gathering dusk as the first evidence of Wisconsin's lake district drifted by. Small, ripple-less ponds at first, reflecting a ridge of giant pines that bordered the far shores, then sizable lakes with tiny lights twinkling in the murkiness, suggesting summer cottages filled with vacationers. Well this was to be his vacation too, his vacation from debauchery.
Despite his now eighteen years, George Hammond was almost a physical wreck. There is just so much that human flesh can endure and in her greediness to become a very wealthy woman, Helen had been holding nightly bridge sessions. In the beginning George had loved it, reveled in a life of sensualness that he had always dreamed of. He loved the excitement of having three different women every night. But as time wore on George gradually wore out. If he had had a full day to sleep it off and rest up for the evening's entertainment it wouldn't have been such a drain on his system. But Helen's insatiable lust for his giant cock kept him at it practically all day too.
He was steadily losing weight and he felt that at this rate he would be an old man before he became one officially. Added to all this was his craving for Terry, or rather Terry's devouring, all-consuming, torturing mouth. That evening as he walked down the street after his sad episode at the cleaners, he had seen her coming towards him, her voluptuous form swathed in mink, her stilt-heeled pumps clicking a merry tune on the sidewalk.
"Hi, Georgie boy," she had called cheerily before they even came up to each other. "After last night I didn't think you'd be on your feet for a week ... ah-h-h, the recuperative powers of youth; I didn't think that I would be able to raise myself from bed this morning."
Then looking about warily and seeing that the street was deserted, she turned her shoulder to him and reached down to clasp George's big cock that was hanging down one pants leg. "I wonder if I would be able to raise him this evening? ... pardon my glove, Georgie, but I'm just testing ... testing to see if he really is as huge as I remember him to be. I'm delighted to see that he is, I was afraid when I woke up that it might have been the martinis."
Terry was a chatterbox, the type of woman who babbles on incessantly, never giving the person she is speaking to a chance to answer, and George didn't mind, he could listen to her sexy conversation all day.
"Say, lover-boy, he's getting hard ... how about having a little two-handed bridge game," she giggled as she brought her other hand into play, pinching George's swelling knob as though she was at a fruit stand, testing a big plum. "No kidding though, Georgie, I've been dying to French you ever since I woke up this morning. My husband is a very poor substitute but I gave him the time of his life underneath the dining room table this morning. While he had breakfast up above, I had breakfast down below ... but Georgie, I was so disappointed, I'm afraid that after you I'm spoiled for any other man ... how about it, baby, can I? ... I'm just drooling at the mouth over the thought of Frenching you."
"S-sure, Miss Terry ... but where?"
"There's a phone booth just around the corner, come on," she giggled, but the giggling belied the lustful look in her eyes as she led him along by the hand as though he were her child and they were out for an evening's walk.
"B-but a phone booth ... it's icy cold and so public."
"Not a bit, Doll, it's as though the place was designed for cock sucking, you'll see," she said cheerily as they approached the booth.
"But it has big windows, someone will see."
"All they will see is a youth speaking on the phone. Notice how the windows only come down to about your waist ... all of our action is going to be confined below your waist, remember?"
"You ... you've done this before, haven't you?"
"Oodles of times, Doll, but never with anyone as well endowed as you. I started sucking boys in high school and did it for two years until I made the mistake of going down on the six-foot, eight-inch center on our basketball team. I didn't realize it because I was so excited, but the whole performance was visible through the windows. Almost everyone in town saw it, including the mayor ... I got into one HELL of a mess over it ... now step inside and unsheath that big cock of yours, lover."
There was no problem with his height because George was only five-foot-six and it was true, the bottom two-thirds of him was invisible from the street. He fumbled with shaking hands for his zipper, found it and yanked it down. Ice cold air rushed in to cool his boiling loins, his cock as hard as steel from the obscene conversation.
"Just pick up the phone and make believe you're talking to your girl friend about the spring prom, sonny," she giggled. "I'll take him out. I'm afraid I don't have the time to give you a good Frenching, not the way I will when you come to visit me. I won't be able to nibble and suck your big balls the way I want to, but I'm sure you're going to like it."
She had to tug his open fly as far away from his body as she could in order to get his giant shaft out where she could get at it, but she managed, after giggling, "What a delightful problem."
As she wet her bee-stung, pouting lips with her tongue, she took some of the juice that was flowing from his great cock-head and rubbed it all around the smooth surfaces.
"With what you've got, buster, I've got to lubricate it to get it into my mouth," she explained. Then without any preliminaries she jammed her wet lips down over the spongy head and with wet, sucking sounds she went to work on the juicy morsel. Her cheeks bulged, heavy with the weight of him, her tongue tickled and lashed, tickled and lashed as she bent eagerly to her delightful task. She began to slide her loving hand over his steaming, erotic shaft in a definite stroking motion, thrilling as she felt the turgid cock swell and grow under her stimulation.
She slipped her other hand down into his fly and captured a great, hair-flecked ball in her clasping fingers, pinching it, hefting it, marveling at the great, fluid weight. As she had shown him the night before, she sought out the tiny, delicate parts on the underside of his juicy gland with her lips and tongue. She seemed to know where they were most sensitive ... where the nerve endings to passion were wide open and raw.
To a casual observer George would have resembled a high school youth speaking on the phone to his girl, but if he had been able to hear, he would have heard groans and moans of passion and the slurping sounds of a mouth devouring a cock. The fiery heat from their mutual passions soon fogged up the windows in the cramped booth. An astute cop, if he had seen, would have wondered about that, but fortunately for the frantic twosome there were no astute policemen on the beat that night. And if he had heard the scream that rent the night air, he would have been puzzled by that too, for it wasn't the scream of someone in fear, it was the scream of a youth experiencing an orgasm.