Chapter 7

Within a week of Mr. Nash's visit, Cousin Steve was the firm's youngest assistant vice president, and I had received a dozen long-stemmed red roses from each. But I was unemployed still. And although I'd tried every school within traveling distance of the apartment, the substitute post at Community High was the only thing available.

"There's always Lonny Royster," suggested Steve when I griped about being a qualified teacher without pupils.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind when I graduated college," I fumed. "There's only one subject crazy Lonny is interested in, and you know it. And I wish you'd stop talking about it and forget I ever told you about what happened to me there."

But that didn't stop Steve. Almost every night he teased me to the point of insanity-toying with my body, and making me tell even more about what Brent and the others had done to me. And each time I complained about not being able to find a job, he again mentioned Lonny.

"Never!" I told him one night after a particularly frustrating day of job hunting. "Not in a million years. Not-not if I were starving!"

Steve laughed and pressed me back on the bed for the second time. "You'll never starve, Carol. Not with old goats like Nash around. He's been after me to invite him over here for another dinner. Christ, cuz, if you were willing, I could set you up in business with him as your first steady customer."

"You-you'd do th-that t-t-to me?"

"Shit yeah. With your body, and me as your manager-well, we'd be able to retire in maybe two-three years."

"Oh-!" I tried to slap him. He caught my wrist; twisted until I yelped, and centered his cock between my thighs. I felt the fat glans penetrate. My hips shot up. "Bastard!" I hissed, angry with myself for wanting him so.

Mr. Nash delivered the second bunch of long-stemmed red roses in person. It was early afternoon and I'd been moping around the apartment in shorty pajamas-thinking, despite myself, about the Roysters, the comfortable salary Brent had offered, and the things Steve had said. Then the doorbell rang, and Mr. Nash was there ... holding the flowers ... grinning the way he had grinned the first time, more than a week before.

"I, ah-I simply had to see you. To, ah-to thank you personally," he said. "May I come in?"

I stepped aside: amused because both he and I knew what he had come for, yet we were acting as if the night in the kitchen never happened and this was a mere social call. Men! I thought, feeling momentarily superior.

Closing the door, I watched him walk to the sofa, turn and shift the flowers from hand to hand. "Steve told me you couldn't find work," he blurted finally. "And I thought-I thought-I...."...." And you thought you could help," I supplied, angry with Steve, but finding Mr. Nash's attempt to buy what I had given him free so cute I couldn't help smiling. Is this how girls get started in prostitution? I wondered.

Mr. Nash thrust the flowers at me. Without speaking, I took the bunch from his hand and moved to the stereo console across from the sofa. Bending slightly forward, feeling the shorty pajama bottom stretch tight across my backside and purposely taunting him, I began to arrange the roses, one by one, in a vase. I expected him to come up behind me. But I pretended surprise when he did.

"Mr. Nash-you-you mustn't," I breathed when his hand began to explore my upthrusted behind.

"I-I only want to help," he croaked, fingers insistent, tracing the split to the juncture of my thighs. "Here. Please, accept this as-as a token of my friendship."

I watched two 100-dollar bills flutter from his hand, to the top of the stereo. My breath caught. I felt suddenly dirty. The amusement of a moment before was gone, and I felt like a common streetwalker ... peddling my sweet little blonde wedge to the highest bidder. But I do need the money! a small voice at the back of my mind reminded. There's the rent to be paid, and food, and that new dress I want, and ... why not accept Mr. Nash's generosity? the voice persuaded.

But, no matter what I decided, it seemed, Mr. Nash was determined to have his way. His fingers had found the elastic legband of the frilly pajamas, and now were probing beneath ... low between the cheeks of my ass ... at my pinched anus, my already swollen and pulsing cuntlips. "Be nice to me," he whispered. "I can be very, all-very generous to a young lady as understanding as you were the other night."

I sobbed and dropped the roses as his stinkfinger slipped into me. My hips shot back ... cunthole sucking him deep. Darn Steve, anyway! I thought. Darn all men, with their big hard pricks, and curious fingers and tongues, and the power to make me so much putty in their hands. I felt him step close, and press his hot dog cock into the crack of my ass. Oh, darn him! Darn him! I cried mentally, and wiggled-telling him with my body to take the stiff thing out of his pants, and press it home, up my belly.

"I-this time I'd like to get undressed," said Mr. Nash. "And to-to f-fuck you in the bedroom. In bed. And to see you. All of you. Your body. Naked."

By now, my pussy was so tight, so wet and ready, I couldn't have resisted even if I'd wanted to. But I didn't want to. I was remembering the feel of his cute swipe shooting off high in my vagina ... the grip of pudgy hands on my churning behind ... his cum dripping down the inside of my thighs. Abruptly I turned and threw my arms around his neck. "Kiss me first," I moaned. "And feel me. Feel all over."

In the bedroom, I lay still while he stripped the clothes from his short, flabby but surprisingly vigorous body. His rod appeared bigger without the pants hiding the mass of kinky black cockhair. And his balls! His balls were low-slung, and huge-almost as hefty as the marvelous sacs that dangled below Lonny Royster's incredible meat.

"Now you," he directed, kneeling on the bed, and making me sit up so he could raise the pajama top off over my head. "Beautiful!" he announced when my titties bounced free. He allowed me to shake out my hair, then pressed me back into the pillows, and kissed first one taut nipple, then the other. Then his hands slipped down, to my waist. His fingers hooked, and began shimmying the shorty bottoms off my hips.

"Let me," I moaned, impatient.

"Yes indeed!" Mr. Nash watched. His eyes grew wider and wider as I pushed the last garment down, exposing the curly white-blonde bush he desired. His hand slid along the underside of my thigh as I raised my knees. And by the time I had kicked off the pajamas, his anxious fingers were once again digging into me.

I reached for his stiff cock. "Put it in," I demanded, jerking.

"Not yet. No. First-" he pushed my hand away, and dove, headfirst between my thighs..

"Owww!" I opened my cunt to his tongue. I gripped the sides of his head, lifted my hips, and ground my twat into his face. "Oh yes. Yes, do it."

Mr. Nash obliged. Cupping his hands beneath the halves of my ass, he lapped my sopping wet gash, my clit-eating me, as if I were a watermelon. His tongue moved down ... washing my asshole ... then back, to bore deep into my gaped open pussy. "Delicious," he mumbled, sucking and licking, and drinking deep of the smell of my womanhood.

"Ohah. OHHHHHHHHHHH!" I raised my knees; arched my spine as his mouth covered my cunthole. And sucked. I closed my eyes; tried to draw breath into lungs that refused to work. My insides were being sucked out, it seemed. Then he blew into me ... sending hot, moist air up my belly, and pressing the trigger that set my pelvis gyrating so fast, so forceful I thought sure something was going to break.

Suddenly Mr. Nash's mouth was gone from my sex. I opened my eyes to find him kneeling between my legs. Dick in hand, face wet with my juices, he stared down at my gaping, pink lovehole. Again I reached for his rod. This time he didn't object. My fingers closed tight on the shaft, and I guided him down onto my tense belly. His face came close to mine. I smelled myself on his lips. Hungrily, I kissed him, and set the lovely red tip of his meat at my pussy.

Tiny, barely audible noises came from my throat as his cock slid in. I dropped my raised knees out to the side ... forming a wide valley for him to fuck into. My ass began to move: pacing my cunt to his thrusts, until he was all the way in, then faster. I remembered the two-hundred dollars on the stereo in the living room-marveling that anyone would pay to fuck me when fucking was the one thing in the world I didn't think I would ever be able to do without.

Raising up on stubby arms, Mr. Nash glanced down, to where his prick was stoking. "Oh, my word," he groaned, moving slowly in and out, grinding his cockhair into my trembling bush with each plunge.

I, too, glanced down, and gasped. I could see the fat little dagger poking into me. It was a beautiful sight ... more so because each stroke shot tongues of fire through my agitated clit, and made my tingling mound swell and harden. I moaned. I sighed. I raised my legs; wrapped them tight around his flabby middle, and said, "Fuck me, Mr. Nash. Make me come. Oh, fuck me good."

We went at it like that until my pussy tightened up in orgasm, and my limbs went slack. Then Mr. Nash said, "I ummm! Um, I love when your little cunt does that. Tight! Yes! Lovely! But I particularly like to fuck with the woman as the protagonist. Would you, dear?"

It took a moment to get my head back on straight, to where I realized what it was he wanted of me. "You mean me on top?"

"Exactly!" He made his dick expand and contract inside me. He waited for me to unwrap my legs. Then he rolled, taking me with him, placing me astraddle-knees doubled close to his ribcage, ass and cunt tilted down and back. "Lovely!" he choked, hands slipping down over the outside of my hips, to the soft cheeks of my ass. "Now dear-move slowly. Makeahoh! Yes! Oh yes, make your hot pussy, ahhh! Make it open and c-close like th-th-that. Just l-like that."

"You mean this?" Bracing myself on outstretched arms, rising until his rod almost popped free, I worked the tip of his joint with my swollen cuntlips.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ah lovely!"

"And this?" I set my hips going up and down ... nipping the knob of his cock each time it threatened to leap free, and fucking my slippery wet sheath down the length of him, in short, provocative little wiggles. It was so unlike me! I thought. And so good!

Mr. Nash groaned and strained upward. His fingers slipped low between the halves of my bottom; spread my cheeks, and found and penetrated my asshole. He eyed my swinging breasts. His tongue shot out to graze my nipple.

"Ow-ow-owwwwwwww!" Panting, I leaned far forward-placing my tit where he could draw the sensitive peak into the warmth of his mouth. My rectum closed tight on his fingers-two, maybe three: my entire lower body was alive with fiery tingles, and I couldn't tell for sure how many fingers had burrowed into me.

Sucking my tit, making noises like an infant hungry for mother's milk, kneading my ass flesh and tickling with the fingers buried high in my chute, Mr. Nash began to fuck. His prick seemed to stand taller ... stoking my burning gash ... matching my rhythm ... retreating, and slamming back in, to the hairy roots.

Frantically I worked my pussy. I was coming again, or still: I was uncertain whether or not the delicious orgasm had ever stopped. And I knew, could tell by his increased gyrations, that the cream was almost ready to spurt from the glans of his pistoning rod. Hot cum! I thought. Good, thick gism, that would overflow my aching cunthole, coat the insides of my thighs, drip down and into the crack of my ass, and momentarily quench the urgent need in my belly.

"Arrr! ARRUMPH!" Mr. Nash's fingernails dug into my ass ... bruising, hurting me ... scratching the tender walls of my rectum. He bit down hard on my taut, pink nipple. His hips came off the bed-planting his fat, throbbing meat, to the hilt.

My mouth fell open. "You're hurting me!" I wanted to protest. But the words wouldn't come. For now his swipe was spitting ... fucking thick cream up my pulsating pussy ... dulling the pain with liquid love.

"Don't stop!" I cried, working faster to keep him from going limp. "Go again! Please! Oh please-fuck more cum into meee."

We lost track of time; dozed. I knew it was late, and that Cousin Steve would be arriving soon, when I opened my eyes and found Mr. Nash propped on one elbow, looking me up and down, as if we hadn't already screwed twice, and he was ready to climb aboard for the first time.

"Wha-what time is it?" I asked, not really caring, but not knowing what else to say-feeling the old guilt, the shame of having given myself wantonly to a man whose first name I didn't even know.

Tracing the fine gold hairs that began at my belly button, and grew thicker, spreading to meet my wedge, the rotund, grinning businessman said, "Time for us to try something Steve has been telling me about you."

I blinked up at him. "What?"

In reply, his hand slid through my bush, past my cuntlips, to my anus. Gently he probed.

Fucking Cousin Steve again! I thought. Was there anything he hadn't told his boss about me? "I-I d-don't really l-like it that way," I sputtered.

"Nonsense!" objected Mr. Nash. "Why, you practically ate my whole hand before when I was fingering you back there. Even now-" his middle finger twisted up my pinched shitter, "-it's nipping to beat all hell. Steve tells me you're absolutely fantastic that way. And he hasn't been wrong yet."

Utterly humiliated, wanting to die, I allowed him to toy with my body. I hadn't escaped the Roysters, I realized. The month I'd spent in the big house on the outskirts of town was only the beginning. And the biggest mistake I'd made was trusting Cousin Steve: telling him what Brent and Lonny and the others had done to me. Now, it seemed, he saw me only as a female receptacle-to be used and abused in any way he saw fit. And my body! Oh, my insatiable body! Despite what I thought, what I knew, despite the shame I felt afterward, I simply couldn't resist the persuasive male hands ... the hands Mr. Nash was moving over my firm breasts, in between my smooth, trembling legs. The convincing fingers. The sleek stiffness with its torpedo-shaped head beginning to stand away from the elderly businessman's cockhair. No matter what I felt morally, physically I was exactly what Steve and Mr. Nash thought of me. A wanton! A common trollop! A teacher whose major subject was all the variations of sex a man could ask for.

"Roll over. On your stomach," Mr. Nash directed in a husky, excited voice. "Let me see your lovely ass. I won't hurt you, dear. I'll be as gentle as a doting father pampering his own precious little sweetheart."

Lord! I thought. Not only were all men horny bastards, but they all seemed to have suppressed, perverted desires! I could imagine Mr. Nash directing his own precious daughter to turn onto her belly, and climbing aboard, and fucking his hot dog up her sweetheart asshole. Like fucking Steve! Just as he had taken advantage of me in the attic ... almost before I was old enough to come.

"Hurry dear," urged Mr. Nash. "My cock is up again. And we mustn't let all that good stiffness go unused."

His swipe was indeed hard again-poking the side of my thigh as he helped make up my mind for me. Hands at my waist, he rolled me over ... onto my belly ... round, white and pink and deep-clefted ass exposed to his hungry view. A chill crept up my spine. I shivered. Again I wondered what it would be like to have two men at me at once. I recalled the long candlestick: Rhonda's ersatz dildo. But a dildo, I knew-no matter how long, how good-couldn't begin to compare with a living, breathing, semen-spitting meat rod. Again, forgetting all my earlier thoughts and reservations, the degradation of being used, I wished for another big dick ... one to fill my cunt while kinky Mr. Nash was having his way with my rectum.

As if having read my thoughts from afar, Cousin Steve appeared suddenly at the bedroom door. "Now, that looks inviting," he said, leaning back against the doorjamb to watch Mr. Nash spread the soft halves of my ass; and, as he had done earlier to ready my cunthole for fucking, press his mouth to my sphincters.

Caught! I was speechless. Would it never end? I wondered. Was I destined to spend the rest of my life in humiliation? But the tongue licking between the cheeks of my ass was creating the desired result. My breath quickened, and my hips-my wanton pelvis: the thing which wanted two cocks at once-began to jerk erratically. Two stiff pricks! I thought. Already I could see Cousin Steve's growing inside the pants. I wanted it! I admitted to myself finally. It wasn't my body, it was me: all of me! I wanted more than anything-more than pride, or being the girl I was before the day in Mr. Phelps' office-to see Steve take off his clothes, and....

"Lemme give you a hand," offered Steve, approaching the bed in long strides. "Cousin Carol likes it better when someone sorta makes her perform."

"I don't!" I yelped in my own defense, so angry I wanted to hit him with the lamp on the bedside table. I tried to twist away from the mouth sucking and licking my asshole.

"C'mon, cuz," said Steve, coming out of his suit jacket and shirt, and fumbling with the buckle on his belt. "What about all the passive stuff you said happened at the Royster mansion? Like the black chauffeur-the first time he made you suck him off. You dug the hell out of that, baby. Maybe you don't know it, but that's your bag. You've been crazy for cock-sucking ever since. Like never before. And that goes for being forced, too. Like the night in the bathroom. Man! You sure fought like hell, and made me take that sweet little ass, but you fucked like never before once I was in you."

I was too numb with longing to object to the things he said. I watched his pants fall; saw his mighty hard dick spring like a live industrial cable from the fly of his shorts. Mr. Nash was unconcerned with all but driving his tongue all the way up my rectum, it seemed. And by the time Steve stood naked beside the bed, head cocked, as if trying to decide how best to use me, I was so hot I would have spread my legs for a leper with a rotting stump where his cock used to be.

Easing himself onto the bed, Steve cupped his huge hand over one cheek of my ass, and said, "I know you're the boss, Mr. Nash, but I think I'd better take over and get things organized here. What we need is a good plan for simultaneous front and rear action."

Over my shoulder, I watched them exchange excited grins. They were so like boys, I thought. But the long, stiff things standing away from their bodies were no mere playthings. They were hot cocks! Big, lovely dipsticks! And my cunt and asshole, my body was seething with desire to take them in. I wanted to tell them so: to urge them to hurry. But, at the same time, I wanted to push them away, to protest. I didn't know what I wanted anymore. I lay still and waited.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have promoted you to assistant vice president if I didn't trust your good judgment, my boy," said Mr. Nash. "I'm open to suggestions."

Steve's fingers slipped down the crack of my ass, to where Mr. Nash had been sucking. "I suggest a sandwich," he said. "With Cousin Carol as the spread."

Before I could agree or protest, almost before I realized what he was up to, Steve had turned me onto my side, had stretched out along the length of my body, and was poking the throbbing tip of his prick at my cunthole. "Like this, boss," he said, holding my anus open with one splayed hand. "Now you do the same thing from behind," he told Mr. Nash. "And I'll bet you a week's pay I come before you."

Gleefully, and sounding like a dirty old man, Mr. Nash chuckled. He leaped to the other side of the bed. He stretched out behind me. "That's a bet I wouldn't mind losing," he said. "Go!"

"Ow. Ow. OWWWWWW!" My hips shot forward, then back, as first one dick, then the other began to press into me. It was an awkward position. I threw my leg over Steve's thigh ... attempting to open my asshole. It hurt. But the cock digging into my pussy, raking my clit, made the other worthwhile. I fucked myself forward and back ... drawing them in ... hating myself, and them, but loving the bloated sensation of dual penetration.

"Man, she's fucking tight this way." Steve pressed harder, forcing another thick throbbing inch of meat up my forebelly.

"Lovely!" gasped Mr. Nash, reaching to fondle my breasts, and humping as forcefully, with as much vigor as the man I estimated to be twenty years his junior.

I felt the two poles boring in, closed my eyes, chewed my lip and strained to receive them. Inside my little blonde pussy, I felt them meet: two old friends shaking hands through the thin elastic membrane separating front and rear entry. I felt Steve's longer, fatter swipe press deep, almost all the way in-then pull back and pause before driving the last stiff inch up my tight, wet cunthole. I moaned. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kissed him passionately, feverishly. I sucked his tongue deep inside my mouth. Raising my leg higher, to his waist, I drove my ass back at the meat halfway up my rear.

It was as if I were being fucked by an octopus. I felt hands all over me ... Mr. Nash's kneading my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples ... Steve's holding the halves of my ass apart for the older man. And the cock! There were two inside me, I knew. But it felt like one gigantic bent joystick sawing an unbroken tunnel into the smoking, dripping, sensation filled place between my quivering young thighs.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" sighed Mr. Nash, at last driving the roots home.

Steve broke the kiss. "I'll trade you one tit for one hunk of soft ass," he offered the rotund businessman.

The octopus rearranged itself. Steve's hand, the one at the end of the arm beneath my waist, came up, to my left tit. Holding the lush mound, as if it were a ripe coconut and he was about to drain it of milk, he fastened his lips, his teeth, to the hard nipple. Mr. Nash, still fondling the melon opposite Steve's prize, and kissing all over my shoulders, the nape of my neck, moved his free hand to the abandoned cheek of my ass. Then the two, sucking and kissing and kneading and pumping in time to some erratic syncopation within my taut belly, began to lift me, to fuck me toward orgasm.

My hips discovered the precise, intricate combination of bumps and grinds, jerks and wiggles for giving the ultimate pleasure to both dipping tools. Pressing forward as Mr. Nash pulled back, I drew Steve all the way in-then set the gyroscope going east to west, and fucked my ass back in time to meet Mr. Nash's next lunge. Faster and faster we screwed ... silent except for the tortured sound of labored breathing, and occasional grunts from them, moans from me, as we sought orgasm.

I wanted to cry out: to scream good! So good! But I was afraid to break the spell. Afraid I might do or say something to end the exquisite pleasure-pain building within my hot, hairy holes. Afraid I might break the rhythm: the peculiar non-cadence that was at once the purest matched tempo and no tempo at all. Afraid it would end too soon.

"Um. Goddam. Jesus. Al-almost there, baby." Steve's lips abandoned my tit. He began to kiss my neck, my face. "Um. Christ, you're good, doll. Motherfucker. Screw baby. Make that pussy work."

"Oh Steve. Ste-eve!" Arms and one leg wrapped tight around him, I fucked with all my might and watched his face contort in pleasure. He was going to win the bet with Mr. Nash, it seemed. I could feel it in my cunthole: could feel the semen gathering at the base of his rod Frantically I worked my inner cunt muscles ... tightening ... loosening and tightening ... helping him, and holding Mr. Nash off by relaxing my sphincters. I could make it go either way, I knew. But Steve, despite all he'd done to me, despite the anger I'd felt moments before, was my cousin still. And no matter what else came between us, he knew all the key sensation points on my body-knew how to make me perform in spite of myself: how to make me forget all but the fat cock now doing such wondrous things inside me.

"She is, ahhh! Indeed good," said Mr. Nash. "But I can't get the right leverage this way."

Steve, on the brink of popping off, stopped humping.

"Nooo!" I yelped.

"Shhh, baby," soothed Steve, a confident grin on his handsome, sweating face. "There's no hurry. And we have to be polite to our guest."

"Then perhaps we'd better rearrange the, ah-the sandwich spread!" said Mr. Nash.

Leaking cunt and inflamed asshole pleading for more of the smooth stoking action for hot cream, I listened to them discuss the possible variations of our three-way union. I didn't care what they did with me ... so long as it was quick! I had been wondering for weeks what it would be like to have two stiff cocks in me. Now I knew. And it was like nothing I had ever before experienced: like nothing I had ever dreamed. I longed only for them to continue. To go on and on. Never stop. To use me, as if I were a cuspidor, as a cum receptacle.

"That sounds negotiable," said Steve in reply to Mr. Nash's suggestion that he lie flat, with me astraddle-as the boss and I had done earlier-and the rotund, anxious businessman on his knees behind. "Carol baby?"

"Oh-! I d-don't care. Only hurry. Hur-reee.'"

Steve laughed. Addressing Mr. Nash, he said, "Didn't I tell you? The hottest little cunt this side of the equator!"

"The hottest little asshole, too," agreed Mr. Nash.

Suddenly the dick up my ass pulled free. I gulped. My rectum felt huge and empty: a toothache. Then I felt myself being rolled atop Cousin Steve. "Bring your knees up, cuz," he told me. "Make like a little girl bow-wow."

I obeyed-but again humiliated by the comparison. Was that what he really thought of me? I wondered. A dog? A mere bitch in heat? I rose on hands and knees; glanced down, to the juncture of my thighs, where his big, slimy prick was embedded up my pussy, and again forgot all but the wonder of fucking. Tentatively I retreated ... watching the hard, meat cylinder slip out, 'and move slowly back in when I pressed down. I sobbed. "Do it, Steve," I begged. "Please. Oh please, fuck me. Fuck me! FUCK MEEE!"

As suddenly as it had popped free, the stiff meat standing away from Mr. Nash's huge, hairy balls was burrowing back up my tortured behind: soothing the toothache. It was even better than before. And now, by looking down, between my wide-spread legs, I could see both of them. Frantic, whimpering strange love noises, I watched the elderly businessman fuck his rod all the way in ... saw his nuts come flush with my upthrust ass, and slap the bowed underside of the mightier cock up my cunthole.

Pudgy hands gripping my hips, grinding slowly against me, Mr. Nash sighed, "Now, that's really good."

"No lie," agreed Steve, recapturing a nipple with his teeth, hands moving over my rib cage, my belly, until one cupped over my pubic mound ... rubbing ... taunting ... middle finger slipping into my slit, to agitate my vibrating clit while his swipe stoked the upper walls of my dripping vagina.

I was dying. I was certain I'd never survive the incendiary friction of the two dicks once again dipping smoothly in and out, in and out, in and out of my trembling body. But I didn't care. Oh, I didn't care about anything except making them shoot. I tried to tell, tell. But the words came out garbled. So I told them with my hips. With my pussy and asshole. I told them by fucking my little upthrust ass round and round, back and forth, from side to side and up-down. I told them as I had never before spoken to anyone.

"Carol. Carol, honey, baby, sweetheart," groaned Steve at last. "Oh Christ. Oh Jesus-sweet motherfucking baby go. Go! FUCKING GO!" One hand still kneading my mound, he used the other to bring my head down, lips to lips. His tongue shot deep inside my mouth. His prick began to jerk inside my pussy.

The blast of cum was so strong, the orgasm it triggered in me so great, it knocked the breath from my lungs. It was a cannonball fired from the knob of his cock, into my belly, and tumbling in hot bliss up the inside of my chest. Then came the miniballs: rapid spurts of thick cream, each tearing a squeal of delight from my throat, and an electric tingle from my clit. I reached down, between our straining bodies, wrapped my hand around the fat hairy roots of his sex, and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed ... milking him ... working with cunt and inner thigh muscles and greedy fingers to drain the last drop.

Steve has won! I thought. Not only the bet with Mr. Nash-who didn't seem to mind losing, and was ohing and ahing and fucking my asshole still-but his attempt to convince me that I was, after all, a wanton, who craved degradation, violation, rape: having my face rubbed in shit-figuratively, of course, and so long as it was manshit, with a stiff swipe on the flip-side.

"Arrrrrrrr!" Mr. Nash pulled back; shafted so hard I fell forward, so that the three of us were lying flat-three tiers of sweating, churning flesh-and added the second blast of hot gism. "My dear," he breathed against my ear. "Oh, my sweet dear. Oh my. Oh my-o-my-o-my."

I barely heard him. I was dizzy with the crushing goodness of dual screwing. I lay still ... letting them fuck me ... slowly ... barely moving ... grinding off, from below and above me, the last drops of pleasure.

I was momentarily sated: content to rest in the afterglow. But what would it be like, I suddenly wondered, if there was yet another big dick, another stiff and spitting meat pipe, dripping off the last drops of bliss in my face?