Chapter 1
Suzanne sighed contentedly and stretched her arms above her head, lifting her exquisite breasts high above her smooth, flat stomach. The slight, early morning chill sent a shiver through her limbs and she scooted back under the covers of the enormous king-size bed that dominated the room. She rubbed her hands quickly over her flesh, her fingers brushed across the warm little mound between her thighs and she felt a familiar tingle in her groin, reminding her of the way Sam had touched her there a few minutes earlier, just before he climbed out of bed to start the coffee.
She smiled happily at the thought of Sam and his constant attention to her every need; especially his concern over her getting enough loving. "Silly," she had teased him, "You're talking about love when what you really mean is sex." Sam had said they were the same thing but she knew this wasn't always true.
It certainly hadn't been true during those horrible days before their marriage. They really were horrible, yet she often let her mind stray back to those hours of delicious humiliation when she had learned what sex was all about; when she had lost her virginity to those three, despicable youths on West Forest Avenue. She could easily forget Ted and Clayton, except for licentious moments when the memory of Clayton's long, black penis would rise up before her, prompting her to more violent love-making with Sam, or more intense masturbation, depending on the mood and situation.
But Donald was another matter. Maybe it was because of his youth (he had been the youngest of the three); but probably most of all, it was because he had come to the wedding. The look of incredible sadness on his lost-lonely face had haunted her for days afterwards. He had stood on the edge of the crowd of well-wishers as she and Sam climbed into the car and drove away. He didn't wave, or speak; he didn't need to. The expression on his handsome features had been enough. Later that night, with Sam's virile body on top of her own, consummating their marriage, Suzanne found Donald's face intruding on her consciousness. Why? she asked herself. Why should she think of him when it was Sam she had married? And it was Sam she loved.
She wondered if Donald was still in Detroit? It had been awhile; maybe he had moved back down south or had gone into the service. She wondered what she would say to him if their paths were to cross again. Despite the violence of their encounter, he had been tender; he loved her, she knew, in his own, strange way. But, then, he moved in a different world from hers. It would be totally impossible for anything to have worked out between them. Besides, he was younger than she was. Only women past forty went with younger men. And she was only twenty. Twenty years with Sam, that good-looking husband of hers; yes, Sam, Sam... Her fingers moved between her legs again, reminding her of his never-ceasing delight in her sex. If it wasn't his fingers, or his beautiful massive penis, it was his talented tongue that would probe her vagina and bring her to a peak of panting passion, making her clutch at his body and cry-out in desperation for him to continue. More... more... until her body trembled and her insides exploded in a climax that left her drained, yet incredibly satisfied. It was never the earth-shattering emotion that she had felt with Donald or Ted or Clayton but it was immeasurably more fulfilling because she knew it was love and not lust that prompted the encounter.
Her nostrils quivered smelling the aroma of freshly perking coffee and she heard Sam clattering the cups and saucers in the kitchen. He was really spoiling her, fixing coffee and sometimes breakfast before he went off to work. She had told her mother, who at once reprimanded her for not assuming that duty as part of her wifely chores.
"Every husband expects his wife to fix breakfast," Mrs. Delacorte said primly. "Of course, it was different with me and your father. We had a cook."
Suzanne was happy she and Sam didn't live in Grosse Pointe. She had lived there all her life, and had become so tired of the pseudo-elegance that characterized the life-style of most of the residents that she welcomed her newfound freedom in Farmington; she had a new husband, a new home, a new life, and she was loving every minute of it. Her only regret was Sam's job. It took him away from her for eight hours a day. But the job was an outstanding opportunity, one that Sam felt he couldn't turndown.
"We can't live on our inheritance forever," he said shortly after they moved into their new home. "Besides," he grinned teasingly at her, "if I didn't have the job, I'll be home making-love to you all day and you'll be worn-out by the time you're twenty-five and I'll have to trade you in." She had slapped him gently and they had ended-up, as they did so often, locked in a passionate embrace which inevitably led to the ultimate expression of their feelings.
So Sam took the job with the investment company and made rapid progress. Suzanne returned to school at Wayne State University. Their days were filled with useful activity.
"Here we go."
She looked up as Sam walked into the bedroom, holding a tray of steaming coffee and a plate of sweet rolls. He put it down on the bedside table, and sat down, bending-over her to kiss her, gently. She put her arms round his bare shoulders and hugged him.
"You're so good to me," she whispered.
"Only because you fuck good," he replied in mock-seriousness. She cried-out in horror and pushed him away.
'You're terrible," she said. And as she reached for her coffee, her eyes strayed again over his naked body, feasting on his muscular frame and the sensuous penis that lay flaccid but provocatively between his thighs. "How can I enjoy a sweet roll when you're sitting there like that?" she asked.
"Just imagine it's me you're eating," Sam said.
"Right size, wrong flavor," Suzanne giggled, holding-up a sausage-shaped doughnut and closing her lips around it, suggestively. She scooted-back, propping herself up against the headboard and letting the covers slip down, exposing her breasts. Sam sucked-in his breath, and bent forward, closing his mouth around a nipple and sucking-it briefly before straightening up.
"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I think I'll skip work today and just stay home and screw."
"Sex maniac," she replied evenly, staring at him over the rim of her coffee cup.
They laughed and relaxed, enjoying the moment, completely uninhibited with each other. How different this is, Suzanne thought. A year ago she would have been horrified at the very thought of sitting in front of Sam without her clothes, much less with him in the nude, as well. Let's face it, I'd have been terrified at the very thought of sex, but only because I wanted to wait till after we were married, she thought.
All those ridiculous frustrations that were her mother's ideas of love. On rare occasions, she could still hear that voice echoing-down the corridors of her mind, putting the fear of God into her for any genital activities other than elimination. "These filthy, disgusting kids today," Mrs. Delacorte would trumpet loudly. "Did you hear about that Barnes girl, pregnant for the second time and not yet fifteen? She's as bad as her mother." Suzanne always knew better than to question the whys-and-wherefores, especially when it was the Barnes family, who had been a source of scandal in Grosse Pointe ever since the oldest girl had bedded and then wedded a visiting Italian count and had gone to live in Florence, becoming the youngest American contessa in Europe.
"Yes, Suzanne's going to the altar a virgin," was Mrs. Delacorte's proud boast at society gatherings. It was fortunate she never knew the truth, but Suzanne had long ago learned that what her mother didn't know was her problem.
And if her mother had known about those three rampant ruffians who had assaulted her so violently (and yet so deliciously!) there was no telling what she would have done. Suzanne knew her mother's anger would have been more because of the irreparable result than because of the actual act. Her mother was just hung-up over sex, period; therefore, it was no wonder her father had affairs on the side. She had a sneaky feeling that her mother was about as responsive in bed as a frozen noodle.
"Hey, you want some more coffee?"
Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts, and Suzanne nodded, passing her cup over. "I'd better get dressed or I'll be late."
"It doesn't matter if you are," said Suzanne, impishly, "In another year you'll probably run that place."
"Even so, I'm still just working there," he replied, handing her the steaming cup and sliding off the bed. "Hey, you mean you don't have time just for one quick kiss?" He turned and grinned at her.
"If I have one quick kiss, you know what that'll lead-to. And I don't have time. Later for you, sexy."
He disappeared into the bathroom and Suzanne pouted, drinking her fresh coffee. Dammit, she really was in the mood; she was always in the mood when she was around Sam. Especially with him naked like that. Just the sight of his body started a warm glow in her groin making her want him, want him with a passion that grew with each new episode.
She put the cup down on the night stand and reached for the cigarettes. Impatiently, she flipped one into her mouth, snapped the lighter and lay back, puffing smoke with nervous energy. The tingle in her crotch had grown; dammit, she had really wanted sex with Sam before he went to work. Funny how you can change, she mused. She had always enjoyed masturbating herself; but she had been afraid of sex until those three boys had shown her that she really had a tiger in her tail, straining to be free. And now that it was free, she was no longer afraid, unless it was fear of not getting enough; and, right now, she felt her animal instincts churning.
She put her free hand under the covers and touched her labia, quivering slightly from the delicious glow that spread through her vagina. Quietly, she inserted a finger and found her clitoris, rubbing it up-and-down until it was hard to her touch. She had the familiar surge of ecstasy that always presaged her slow climb to orgasm. She lay back, luxuriating in the sensation of the cigarette combining with the eroticism that was spreading through her.
Dimly, she heard the noise of the shower and Sam's deep tones as he began his usual morning serenade. In her mind she saw his body, the rippling muscles and the smooth skin as he spread the soap across those broad shoulders; the wide chest, the flat, smooth stomach and, then, down to the crotch; she almost felt his sex as she pictured his hands, soaping himself, making a pile of lather on his pubic hair and around his magnificent cock and balls; and, then, his hand pulling his foreskin back and squeezing his shaft, giving himself a passing thrill as he cleansed himself.
Quickly she stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and put her other hand over her breasts, tweaking the nipples, bringing them to full firmness, and rubbing herself while her fingers pressed deeper into her vagina. Mentally, she imagined Sam's penis penetrating her, pushing into her, thrusting in-and-out, bringing her the joy and supreme delight that she had grown to love so much.
"Oh, Sam... " She breathed deeply as her hands caressed her body and her mind focused on his voice from the bathroom, making the fantasy even more real, more exciting. He was only a few yards away. What if he were to walk in now and plunge his penis into her, completing an act in seconds which normally took so much longer? It would be better than what she was doing.
"Sam... Sam... come here," she called-out. The splashing water was suddenly shut-off. "You call me, hon?"
"Yes. Come here. Now. Just like you are."
"Suzanne, I don't have time."
"I'm ready, baby. Come on, it'll only take a minute."
"I don't dig a quick fuck. You know that."
"You bastard. Go to hell!"
She heard the noise of the shower again, and, impatiently, she increased the tempo of her fingers, the pressure of her hands on her breasts. Goddamn it, Sam. You don't know what you're missing. Donald wouldn't turn me down. Donald... she thought.
Her eyes opened wide. For the first time in months she was seeing Donald's face in her fantasy. It had always been Sam; but now it was Donald, his innocent youthfulness sparkling with lust. She remembered his lithe body, his throbbing, erect penis just before she was impaled on it with Clayton and Ted holding her helpless. And she felt, once more, the sharp thrust of his maleness entering her, going-in all the way and banging-away so hard and fast, it took her breath away. Her fingers responded to the memory and she felt her vagina quivering. More... more... oh, goddamn, this is good! More, Donald. Stick it in all the way and give it to me, you young stud. Scream a little. Struggle. You don't want them to think you're enjoying it too much. Fight for it. Oh, fuck me, Donald, fuck me good.
Her body trembled and she felt the approaching climax. Her loins were catching-fire, her hips were moving faster-and-faster, blending themselves with her fingers as they grabbed her clitoris and caressed it, holding tightly as her insides heaved and she let out a gigantic sigh of ecstasy. She felt her vagina contract and her juices flow and she groaned in delight. Oh, Donald! I'm coming... I'm coming... oh, fuck me, you beautiful boy, let me have that cum right up my cunt... !
The telephone jangled its shrill summons and Suzanne's fantasy dissolved in the onrush of reality. With a muffled curse, she reached-over and picked-up the instrument. She recognized the familiar voice. With unnecessary anger she snapped back: "Goddamn, Yvonne, you pick the worst time to call!"
Woodward Avenue was crowded with students pushing down the sidewalk. Suzanne sidestepped an onrushing young man, his vision partially obscured by the head of a blond who was attempting to kiss him as they walked. The air was warm and it promised to be another blistering, Michigan summer day.
Suzanne moved her books to her other arm, easing the ache that had crept into her shoulder. She had walked from the north end of the campus and now was near the Maccabees Building, where Yvonne had promised to meet her. She smiled to herself, remembering that Yvonne had called, rather remorsefully, only two months ago, asking for a resumption of their friendship. By this time, the memory of the insults and perverted sex had faded, and Suzanne realized she would be losing a good friend by not taking-up with Yvonne again. As the older woman said: "Old friends are best, dear, even if they are a bunch of lesbians."
Yvonne hadn't made a pass since their reconciliation. She was still living with Carole, and Suzanne had been up to their apartment, once, for dinner and had spent a truly happy evening. They spoke little of the terrible night when they had all been victims of the three boys' orgiastic desires. They all seemed to know instinctively that there was nothing to be gained by raking-over the coals, especially the embers of such an unpleasant episode. Carole did comment, lightly, that she hadn't seen the boys around the neighborhood anymore: and Yvonne had declared in her stentorian tones that if she ever did, she was to call the police. So they concluded that the boys had moved away, possibly to avoid any repercussions from the gang-rape of the girls that horrible night.
"So there you are!"
Suzanne looked-up and saw Yvonne leaning up against the concrete wall on the corner of Canfield and Woodward Avenue. "Hi."
Suzanne grinned at Yvonne's eternal, perky expression of coy amusement. "You want to eat at Verne's again?"
"Is there anywhere else?"
Yvonne eased forward and fell into step with Suzanne. "I like that outfit."
"Thanks." Yvonne smiled happily at the compliment. "I got it at Lerner's. They've got a sale this week. Would you believe only $5.95 for the whole mess?" Suzanne laughed.
"You're the only one I know who'll tell the price of a dress and be proud it's less than twenty dollars." Yvonne shrugged her thin shoulders.
"Why bullshit? Everyone knows how much I make, and I'm not ashamed of it." She arched a pencilled eyebrow at Suzanne. "I wasn't lucky to marry for money." Suzanne pouted and shook her head slowly. "You know that isn't true."
"I know. You married him because he's got a big cock and knows how to use it." Yvonne giggled, her usual, throaty expression of licentious amusement. "In fact," she added, "were you, by any chance, fucking this morning when I called?"
Suzanne blushed.
"No, I wasn't, and what I was doing is none of your business." She grinned, remembering. "So there."
"Okay, okay. Just curious, not nosy. But you did sound like you were in the middle of something. " Suzanne was silent, and they walked on through the thinning crowd down to Forest Avenue and turned west to where the familiar sign hung above the sidewalk, announcing the most popular campus meeting place. They pushed through the door and made their way through the darkened interior to a small table at the rear.
They ordered steer burgers and settled-back in the gloom.
"Anything special to talk about?" asked Suzanne. "I had a feeling from your voice this morning that you didn't call just to have company for lunch."
Yvonne inhaled deeply and paused a moment. As she spoke, clouds of blue smoke gushed from her mouth. "Well, truthfully, darling, there is something, and I wanted to discuss it with you. You see, it does concern you."
She paused a moment, and bit her lip.
"Well, go on," said Suzanne impatiently. "Quit being so dramatic." Yvonne gave a wry laugh.
"Okay, okay. I don't quite know how to put this, but" She hesitated, and then proceeded with determination. 'You remember those little bastards who"
"I remember them."
"They're back in town."
Suzanne felt an icy shiver run up her spine. Her eyes widened, and she reached for Yvonne's cigarettes and lit one with shaking hands.
"So did you talk with any of them?" Yvonne nodded.
"Yes. I was walking up Forest Avenue yesterday and coming towards me was this figure, all done up in a leather jacket and tight blue jeans and boots. Well, you know how I am about baskets, and the first thing I noticed was the one on this character. My eyes took it in, because I figured I hadn't had a thrill for two hours and seeing the outlines of that cock through the jeans well, you know what that does to a girl." Yvonne laughed loudly. "And then, as he got nearer, I looked up and I realized who it was. And he knew who I was, too. I think both our faces dropped at the same time."
"Who was it?" Suzanne's voice was tight with suspense.
"It was Donald. He's put on a little weight, and looks as adorable as ever, if you can call that little fucker adorable. He smiled at me and I looked away, so he called out."
"Like what?"
"Oh, he wanted to know if I still lived in the old apartment and if I felt like some company." Yvonne paused. "Then he asked me how you were."
"What did you say?"
"Well, he'd grabbed my arm, so I couldn't really do much. I didn't want to cause a scene so I was pleasant enough. Icy, but pleasant. I told him where I lived was none of his business and that you were fine and to get the hell out of the way before I called a cop."
"And did he?"
"He laughed loudly, and let me go. I walked away and he called after me, saying we'd be seeing each other. I must admit I was a little scared. Just seeing him again brought back all the memories of that time with him and the others.
Suzanne nodded. She felt relieved now that Yvonne had related the whole episode.
"Well, at least he doesn't know where I live," she said, "But as for you and Carole... " Suzanne's voice trailed-off "Maybe you'd better call the police and tell them."
"Nope. Won't do a damn bit of good. It's my word against his, and don't think the cops aren't sick-to-death of calls from screwy women who think the world's out to rape them. No, all I can do is make sure we keep the door locked and make sure we're not alone in the alley at night."
They leaned-back as the waitress approached with their food and drinks. They unwrapped the steerburgers and began eating.
"Tell you what," said Suzanne between mouthfuls, "why don't you call one of those security places and have a guard put on the building? Surely the manager would go along with that."
Yvonne laughed, choked on a crumb and reached desperately for the glass of water. A moment later, she cleared her throat.
"Nope. Not a chance. I'm not worried. I don't think he'll try anything. He may be alone, and his brother may be out of town still."
"And he may not."
They continued eating in silence until they were through. Suzanne lit a cigarette and stretched.
"Well, I'm glad you told me. At first I was afraid, but I'm not now. I know he wouldn't try anything with me, and, most important, he could never find me at school."
"Not among twenty-five thousand students, he couldn't, that's for sure," said Yvonne, "But if that little bastard wants to find you, I bet he will, one way or the other. At least you've got Sam around to protect you at home. With me and Carole, it's a different matter, just like last time."
"Yes, I remember."
Both girls sat a moment in silence, their minds going back to the hours of terror they had spent at the mercy of Donald, his brother, and their colored friend, all of them naked and with seemingly permanent erections, taking each of the girls in turn, forcing themselves on-and-on, until thankfully, it was over. And, even as she remembered, Suzanne had to admit again, as she had a thousand times, that she had loved it. Despite the fear, the violence, the degrading things they had forced her to perform, her inherent animal instincts had responded and she found herself crying-out for more, her emotions as desperate as her body. Yet, she knew this was only a perverse quality, one side of herself that she would do best to subdue, even eliminate. But there were still moments, like now, when the thought of those hours of forcible rape and incredible perversion brought more than a passing tingle to her groin.
"Well, I'd better get back. I have a one-thirty," said Yvonne, "And I want to stop in at the bookstore. You going home?"
"No. I have a class, too."
"Okay, let's walk up Cass together."
They paid the waitress and left the bar, blinking their eyes as they left the darkened interior and came into the bright sunlight. They moved down Forest Avenue to the corner and turned up Cass, towards the book store three blocks north.
"God, this neighborhood is a mess," commented Yvonne, her eyes taking-in the decaying homes and broken storefronts. "It's a pity they didn't burn the whole fucking area during the riots." Suzanne nodded.
"There are some parts of Detroit that are so lovely," she murmured, "and all it takes is a little work and imagination. This area could be beautiful." Yvonne grunted.
"With the trash that lives around the campus, what'd be the use?" she asked. "Look at Donald and those creeps. Do you think types like that care about urban renewal? Hell, the only thing they think about is getting another piece of tail, and they're not particular whose it is."
"I think Donald is particular."
The words were out before Suzanne realized it. Yvonne frowned and glared at her friend.
"You're out of your skull. That little refugee from Kentucky doesn't know how to spell the word. Don't tell me you feel sorry for him after what he did to you?"
Suzanne stopped walking, and leaned-up against a concrete pillar that had once supported the porch of one of the demolished houses.
"I don't feel sorry, Yvonne, but there was something about him that was different from the other two. I never told you this, but he came to the wedding. He was standing at the back of the crowd as Sam and I drove off in the car. He was crying." Her voice dropped and Yvonne was staring at her. "You see, I've always felt that if Donald hadn't come from that terrible background, well... maybe he might have grown up into quite a wonderful guy."
Yvonne shook her head slowly, and tugged Suzanne's arm. They began walking again.
"You're too much," she said, but her voice had lost its harshness, "I'll admit he's a cute-looking kid. And after yesterday, I'd say he's got even cuter. He's sexy as hell, but in a nice, clean way. That I'll never deny. But he's still a little tramp who'll fuck anything and don't you ever forget it. He'll be into your pants again the first chance he gets, and he'll probably have half the neighborhood with him, too."
Suzanne nodded. "I guess you're right, but I can't help thinking about him. I think he really fell in love with me, but realized it was hopeless. He's younger than me, to begin with, and well." She shook her head. "Oh, this is ridiculous. I'm talking like one of those stupid girls in Mary Stewart's novels, all sentiment and no sense."
"I'm glad you said it, not me," said Yvonne, "Here's the book store. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
She smiled and held out her hand, patting Suzanne on the arm, tenderly. "And forgot about Donald. Forget about them all. You've got Sam, remember. He's all that matters." Suzanne nodded.
"Yes. You're right. Take care. And call me if you need help or anything. Promise?"
"I promise."
Yvonne turned and walked into the bookstore and Suzanne continued across the street, glancing at her watch. She had twenty minutes to make her class. She slowed her walk and smiled as she felt the warm sun on the back of her neck, thinking that summer in Michigan could be beautiful.
"Hi, hon, I'm home."
Suzanne looked-up from her book as she heard the back door slam and Sam's cheery voice echoing through the house. A moment later he bounced into the living room, and took her in his arms. Their embrace was close and their kiss passionate and breathless. He broke-off and stared at her.
"You get prettier every day," he murmured. "Now, how about fixing us a drink?"
She looked up into his deep, blue eyes and smiled happily.
"Sure. And I have something special planned for dinner tonight."
His face fell, and he raised his eyebrows. "Hate to tell you this, but I can only stay for one drink and then I have to go. The boss wants me to meet some investors from the Coast. It's kind of important, he said."
"I think that's terrible." Suzanne's voice relayed her disappointment. "You might have called from the office. I could have had dinner with Yvonne and Carole."
He chucked her under the chin and grinned.
"Now you know that's not true, so don't try to pull that number. I didn't call because he only told me in the parking lot. Twenty minutes ago. Come on, now, business comes first, remember."
"I thought I came first."
He grinned wickedly. "You always come first, but only in bed," he said teasingly, "Come on, go get that drink now, and I promise I'll get away as soon as I can, and come home and make mad, terrible love to you all night long."
"You always do."
"I should hope so."
Suzanne leaned-up and kissed him, smiled, and then went to the kitchen and mixed two martinis and carried them back, expertly. She handed one over and held hers up.
"To my handsome husband, future owner of the company," she toasted, "I hope you get that presidency soon so you can spend more time at home where you belong." They both relaxed on the couch, and Suzanne snuggled-up close to him.
"Have a nice day?"
"Uh-huh." His mouth moved over to her ear, and he nibbled gently. She squirmed and her hand rested on his leg, caressing his thigh. Sam looked at her quizzically. "You know what that's going to do to me," he said softly, "So quit."
"Shut up and enjoy it," she said, moving her fingers up to his crotch. "You wouldn't give me any this morning, and you're not going to get away now."
She felt the growing hardness in his penis as her fingers expertly massaged the shaft through his pants, and he shifted slightly.
"Suzanne, that feels great, love, but I've got to meet the boss in an hour down at the Ponchartrain."
"Good," she murmured, leaning over and licking his ear quickly. "That means fifteen minutes for sex, ten minutes to get yourself organized, and twenty minutes to drive downtown, and five minutes to make it to the bar. I presume you're meeting him in the bar?"
"You're too much."
With a sigh, Sam scooted-forward, allowing her easier access to his crotch. Delightedly, she unzipped his pants, and her hand crawled inside, searching for the end of his penis and pulling it out. She pulled the foreskin back and revealed the shining red head, already oozing lube from the wide slit at the end.
"Oh, but he's pretty," she breathed, and her head came forward, her lips closing around his maleness, her tongue going wild around the edge of his glans, her teeth holding the shaft and nibbling. He moved his hips, thrusting upwards. She felt the length penetrate over her tongue and slide into her throat, where she flexed to encompass it and give added pressure to the head.
He groaned with delight and his hand came down, touching her hair and caressing her ears gently.
"Suzanne, you give the best goddamn blow-job in town," he murmured. "I'm so glad I married you."
She lifted-up a second, and stuck out her tongue at him.
"You talk too much," she said, and lowered her mouth once more. Her fingers reached for his testicles, and held them, cradling the sac in her palm and letting them gently rub the balls around while her lips sucked hungrily on his shaft, moving up-and-down, quickly.
Her other hand encircled his shaft, holding the skin firmly, pulling it back so she could concentrate on the glans, its bright, shiny surface stretched almost to bursting from the excitement and the incredible sensations that her talented tongue produced in his groin, which flooded his entire body with erotic delight.
Slowly, she began pulling his balls, stretching his skin even more and making his penis firmer and more exciting to the touch. He began moving his hips, driving his sex in-and-out of her mouth, ramming into her throat where, from long experience, she knew to let it sit, throbbing and pressured by the tightness of her mouth around it.
He moaned and began moving his body, which trembled with suspense at his approaching climax. "Take it easy," he muttered, "I'll come real soon if you don't ease up. Make it last, baby." She lifted her mouth and laughed softly. "You don't have the time, remember."
With a rush, her lips encircled him again, and she began licking frantically, letting her lips cover her teeth and make a hard, glistening passage for his penis to thrust in-and-out, as her tongue titillated the underside of his glans, sending chill-after-chill through his limbs.
His hand came round the back of her head and held her tightly, pressing her down on his shaft. His hips began a steady rhythm which blended with hers, and he knew the long, slow ride to the end of the line had started. The tingle deep between his legs began, and it felt like an electric current had started in his balls and was traveling upwards along his shaft. His body shook and then, with a loud cry, he lunged upward with his penis, pushing it deep into her throat as he felt himself ejaculate, shooting his seed into her. She gulped, swallowed and then sucked frantically again, draining him, milking his cock of every last drop of that precious, salty cream that she had learned to love so much. She tasted it as it slid over her tongue, its presence thrilling her as much as if he had come within her vagina, which at the moment was quivering and was wet and warm with her own juices. Finally, she felt him begin to soften, and she raised-up, letting his penis slide out and lie across her hand.
Gently, she rolled the foreskin back over the end, and tucked his organ back in his pants.
"There," she said, very matter-of-factly, "That ought to keep you happy till you get home tonight."
He leaned forward and their lips met passionately. They broke apart, and he stared into her eyes.
"I do love you," he murmured.
"Likewise, I'm sure," she replied in a fake, Brooklyn accent. And they both laughed, and hugged each other.
Sam zipped up his pants and stood up, straightening his shirt. "Gotta go," he said, "see you later."
"How much later?"
"How do I know? Probably around eleven. If it's going to be real late, I'll call you. Okay?"
"Okay. But do make it back by midnight. You know how horny I get then."
"You're always horny, you adorable little bitch."
He slapped her gently across the buttocks, and ran out of the room. Suzanne walked over to the window and watched him back their little sports car out of the driveway, and zoom down the street. She turned back and sat down on the couch again, draining the remains of her martini. God, she was going to miss him. After that quick session a few minutes earlier, she was really in the mood for more sex, for a real, passionate interlude where he would take her body and do everything to her that she wanted. Oh, Sam, Sam.
She picked-up the martini glasses and walked into the kitchen. She was busy rinsing them under the tap when she heard the front doorbell. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, remembering that she had asked a classmate to drop-by with some books that evening. That was probably her at the door, and how convenient. With Sam away for the evening, they could have a good study session.
Suzanne put her hand on the doorknob, turned it and pulled, a smile of welcome on her lips. She froze. Fingers of fear traced their ugly pattern down her back. Her eyes took-in the figure standing there, blue jeans bulging and leather jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder.
"Hello, baby," said Donald, an insolent grin on his young handsome face, "I guess it's all right to come in now your husband's gone, huh?"