Chapter 4
Hilda put down the receiver quietly, with satisfaction, without saying goodbye, without identifying herself in any way. She patted the homely black instrument. It had served her well. She looked up from the chintz chair to see Rosemary and Bullock walk sideways together into the wide sun-flooded living room. They were locked together in a long kiss, and their arms were twined around each other. Bullock's hand was swallowed up in the low peasant blouse that Rosemary wore.
At last their mouths broke away and they looked at each other long and deeply. That bastard Bullock. He hadn't looked at her that way last night when she'd gone to him in her need. Hilda had given him a crazy story about being locked out. He'd probably been up here all evening and had just come down the back stairs when she arrived. The look he was giving Rosemary now would explain why he'd been so adamant about keeping quiet and the perfunctory fucking he'd given Hilda on the kitchen table.
Well, just wait till the cast party. She'd show Rosemary. And Celia. And Bullock. Especially Celia. Hilda smiled to herself in anticipation. Garrett was a bastard too, but there was no denying he was a smart one. She knew that handling the arrangements for the cast party was only a consolation prize, but what he didn't know was that she was going to wind up with the part, too.
Celia toyed with her cheese souffle and salad. The bright sun pouring into the corner booth hurt her eyes, and her heart felt like a concrete rock in her breast. She knew her humiliation would be final and complete if she pressed Web further, but she couldn't stop herself.
"I thought we... I... mean... it's usual..." She faltered, swallowing the huge lump in her throat and looking down at her food to hide the tears that trembled on her lashes.
"You thought we'd get married. But you knew all along that I'm trying to open my own business. You knew I had no intention of marrying yet." He threw down his napkin in irritation. The silence was so thick and cloying he couldn't breathe. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it, looking out over the restaurant at the lunch crowd.
"I guess... I thought... circumstances could...sometimes change... that maybe you'd want..." Celia stopped, turning her head to look out the window as though she were intent on something in the parking lot. Her hand covered her eyes from Web, and the shining hair swung forward to cover her cheek.
"Look... what we had was something you wanted, too. I wasn't the only beneficiary, you know. And I'm perfectly willing for things to continue as they are... but I'm not ready to be tied yet. And I don't think you're ready for it, either. Live a little. Have some experiences."
Celia slid her huge dark glasses on and blew her nose discretely. She looked up at him then with the darkened glass obscuring her eyes completely. She tried to smile, but her mouth trembled and her lips would not function. "I think I've had all the experience I need."
Before he could stop her, she slid from the booth and made her way swiftly out the restaurant door and into the bright Texas sun. When the door swung shut behind her to hold in the cool air, he could still see her retreating figure behind his eyes. He ground out his cigarette savagely, and only then did he see she'd tucked a dollar bill under her plate. Web left it for a startled waitress and walked quickly up to the cashier and placed the right amount with the check. He slammed through the door into the hot muggy interior of his car, gunned it into action, and squealed the tires as he turned out of the parking lot to go back to work.
Celia had no real memory of how she got through the afternoon at the shop, waiting on customers, checking invoices, doing the unit control books from yesterday's sales slips, changing the window display. It was all a blur, and her stomach was a knot of pain.
By the time she got home after work her head was splitting and her insides still churning. Nausea was sweeping her. She fell into the smaller bedroom that was hers, threw her bag on the marble-topped bureau, and collapsed on the heavy white bedspread. Over and over the scenes played behind her closed eyes, rolling and changing, superimposing and montaging.
Was it only yesterday that she had been Celia Brown, budding young actress, good daughter, diligent student, working girl? Her world had collapsed, her body changed, her heart broken, and her hopes gone forever. She sobbed then, and the tears poured out in sheets. She wanted to die.
Celia woke to a pounding that echoed in her head. Wearily, she struggled from the bed and opened the door, leaning on it for support.
"Celia, baby!" Patrick held his arms wide as his Irish grin. "Have you forgotten the tryouts tonight?"
"I'm not going," she mumbled.
"But you have to. You're sure to get the part... Hey, baby-what's the matter?" He took her by the shoulders and bent a little to peer into her face. It was tear-streaked and the lipstick was gone. Her eyes were puffed and swollen, her hair uncombed.
She shook her head. "I'm just tired," she sighed. "And don't call me baby."
"Well... never mind, Tender." He held her chin in his hand and looked over her face. "All that pretty face needs is a quick wash, a dash of lipstick, a comb through your shining crown, and we'll be off."
She felt her throat close again. Patrick was being so kind. He'd dubbed her "Tender" almost from the day she arrived but, she realized, he only called her that when she seemed to be in distress. "I can't, Patrick... I'm sorry... you go on."
"I'll do no such thing." He pushed her before him down the hall to the bathroom. "Now, if you want me to wash your face for you, I can do that, too." She shook her head and tried to smile, and he bowed out the door.
Celia still didn't see how she could possibly manage to go, but she washed her face anyway and that felt a little better. Slowly she brushed her hair and, fingers shaking, stroked on pale lipstick. The mirror showed her the same Celia she'd always seen, except for the puffiness and some fatigue smudges under the eyes. How could she look the same? How was it possible to look the same as she had yesterday... when so much had happened, so much ruined, so much felt and thought, so much gone? She could never ever be the same again... that Celia was gone forever. "Mirror, mirror on the wall..." she murmured, and she saw herself in the mirrored room with Web's hands sliding over her naked flesh.
The words hung in her head like some awful dooming banner proclaiming her hopelessness.
Patrick was pounding on the door and yelling. She opened it.
Despite her protests, Patrick took her to a small restaurant near the rehearsal hall for chili. It tasted good, for her lunch had been left almost untouched. The tortillas were hot and buttered, and the chili left stinging bites on the tongue. Patrick, with his mimic's charm and inexhaustible fund of stories, soon had her laughing in spite of herself.
Celia looked around at the patrons. They were working people, teenagers, tired housewives, a few lonely old people... the cross section that she supposed Waxahachie was, too, but it had never looked even this interesting to her. It had never seemed to have even this much color and variety... and she realized that probably one way or another she would soon be back there for life. Entombed.
The night sky was punctured with a few stars. It was warmer than it had been after dark for the last week. Celia leaned against Patrick and was grateful for his arm around her shoulders as they walked along the deserted sidewalk under the old elms. She was so tired... so terribly tired.
"I still say Garrett was a bastard tonight. A first-class bastard. He didn't make anyone else stay and do one scene fifty times over. He was trying to break you!" Patrick said solicitously.
"No... I think it was just me. I just couldn't seem to get it right. I knew I shouldn't have come. Too much has happened all at once."
"Look, Tender. You're the best actress in the city of Dallas, and don't think Garrett doesn't know it. You got the part, all right. It just makes me furious the way you had to get it."
"I felt like such a fool. Standing there crying. I don't know. I just couldn't seem to stop."
"Hell, anybody would have cried with the going-over he gave you!"
Celia looked up at Patrick, and somehow his words made the tears start flowing again. She could still feel the sting of Garrett's tongue-lashing.
"Hey, it's over now. You don't have to cry now." He squeezed her closer and kissed her hair near the temple. He steered her into the quiet park without her even noticing. Her eyes were on her feet. Patrick found a path that led down to the trickle of river and the dammed-up lily ponds. His favorite bench was there, backed by a walled partition so it formed a private little three-sided cabin with a picnic table in the center.
He'd known ever since he knocked on her door and dragged her out this evening that something very shaking had happened to Celia Brown. His instinct, the strange intuitive thing that made him know when to press the advantage in a political campaign and when to hold back, told Patrick that now was the time to press Celia Brown. She was as vulnerable now as a snail without a shell, a newborn bird without a mother. And during the tryouts Justin Garrett had softened her up even more.
Patrick sat down on the bench and pulled Celia down, too. With his back braced against the partition and his desert boots on the picnic table, he put her feet up and turned her against his chest as though she were a child.
"Now, suppose you tell old Father Flanner here what's troubling you."
Celia lay with her legs along the bench and her head and shoulders tucked against Patrick's chest. For the first time, she began to feel as though someone cared that she was miserable. The intense searing emotions that could only be that shaking to a nineteen-year-old girl came pouring out of her in a great sobbing flood.
"Oh... Patrick... I'm no good... I've ruined... everything... forever..." The hurt came out in a chest-heaving pain that wracked her. Patrick soothed and rocked her, holding her tight against him as though she were five years old with her small world shattered.
In the dark she could feel freer to let go, and Patrick let her rave and sob and cry, smoothing his hands down her body gently in monotonous sliding motions. He could feel the tenseness gradually begin to ease from her as he caressed her from shoulderblades and neck to waist and hips and thighs to calves.
Even before her broken words and phrases and sobs made it clear to him what had actually happened to her, the line he spoke in the play to her every night kept ringing in his head like a message... "Virginity once lost may be ten times found..." He'd help her find it ten times over!
The smooth sinuous curves of Celia's lovely body under his hands, so close and warm against him in the warm dark, with the frog's croaking so near at the water's edge, sent a hot thrill chasing through Patrick's veins. It was like the power that surged through him when he knew his words were swaying an audience, bending them to his will. His hands were now wielding that hypnotic power over Celia's lovely body.
Very softly, as her words began to fail and the sobs to ease, he recited poetry to her while his hands continued to work their soothing magic. Snatches of The Rubaiyat, The Prophet, the Sonnets, Rossetti, whatever he could remember.
Celia lay cradled against Patrick's warm chest, almost soothed to sleep now by his voice and his smoothing hands and his lips kissing her face and hair in the pauses between the words. Lovely words that comforted her, warm kind hands that eased her. They would walk home soon, she told herself, and she could sleep and blot out the last terrible twenty-four hours. Such nice words Patrick spoke... how kind he was...
It seemed quite natural when his lips found hers and his warm hand slid down her throat and slightly inside the neckline of her dress to her shoulder. He caressed the tender, sensitive skin around her collarbone. Patrick's mouth went from her lips to her cheeks and both eyelids and temples and ears and jaw and throat and back to her mouth. His lips were very gentle and tender. She smiled faintly to herself in the dark, remembering that he called her "Tender."
It was so dark that she couldn't see his face even when she opened her eyes, so Celia kept them closed and felt the kindness in his voice and warm jaw and chin and cheek and lips and hands. The frog talk in the background and the faint rippling sounds of the water were reassuring in their monotony.
Patrick eased his hand to the front zipper of Celia's dress, his voice reciting again and his mouth kissing, and he slid it silently down. His hand went back to her throat and started its slow descent to her breast, her full voluptuous breast that he could still see creaming out in round ripeness above her costume last night. He worked very carefully, for he mustn't terrify this soft little unshelled snail. She might melt away.
Celia sighed, so close to sleep now that it was an effort to keep the consciousness from drifting away inside her head. As Patrick's lips found hers again, his hand closed over her breast so softly that at first she was hardly aware of it. There was only a comforting warmth where there had been none. A soothing comforting warmth that flowed through her veins when she was so close to sleep and when she was so tired and...
"Poor little Celia," he crooned in a whisper against her opened mouth. Then he slid his lips down her throat as his hand rounded and cupped and caressed her breasts through the thin net bra. Growing bolder, his hand dipped deeper inside her opened dress to slide down her rib cage and over her naked belly above her bikini pantyhose. The firm young skin on the bowl of her little belly was warm satin under his exploring palm and fingers. His hand communicated to his excited brain by touch what she looked like, and he could see her white silken curves in his head.
Celia's mouth opened under Patrick's as he kissed her more firmly and insistently. She was warm and snug and comforted until his warm hand slid under her bra and touched her naked nipple that popped instantly alive and rigid with anticipation. Suddenly she was aware of what he was doing... of what he had been doing!
"No... Patrick... no!" Instantly she was alive and conscious and protesting as she tore her mouth away and tried to sit upright. Celia felt herself being pressed down again under his now hard hands that restrained her and held her. Oh my God! He'd been seducing her the way Web had... and her traitorous body had responded!
Celia strained and fought to get away, but his mouth held hers with his tongue now forced between her teeth deep in her throat. His hard muscular arms pinned her flailing arms and legs, and he held her like a slippery writhing fish. No! No! But he locked her to him in the vise of his arms, and she began to whimper deep in her throat.
Despite her fighting and struggling, Patrick knew he would catch the fish, for he had the advantage now and he was going to force it. Still holding her down in his lap with his arm and hand and mouth, he slid his hand up her dress to catch the top of the bikini pantyhose. She slithered and writhed, moaning as he tried to strip them down.
Celia could feel what he was doing and knew his strength far exceeded hers. She was almost choking on his hard tongue that fucked relentlessly into her mouth, and her breath was coming in painful sobs through her nostrils. She knew in the very marrow of her being that he was going to win, that he would have his way, would do with her whatever he wanted, and she would be helpless to stop him. Oh God. She remembered how kind he'd been, and she'd been such a fool to trust him. It was true! Men only wanted one thing of a woman... and one thing only! They'd do anything to get it... any dirty underhanded, deceitful thing!
Even as she raged and fumed inwardly, she also knew deep within her that her body responded, wanted it, participated... that it was not totally the male responsibility. Her own lusting flesh helped the rutting male. Her despair was overwhelming. She was ruined forever and would be buried alive in the mediocrity of Waxahachie, Texas. Suddenly, there seemed no point to anything. If Celia Brown died now or further besmirched herself, it could not matter. The damage had been done.
Patrick was still working at her writhing hips, and he pulled his mouth away to catch her heaving breast with the bra slipped up above it. He could see it now, for the moon had escaped from the cloud cover. That beautiful white full life-giving breast shuddering in the moonlight. With a deep groan, he bent his head to it and tasted her silken flesh in his mouth.
Celia felt his wet hot mouth close on her breast as he drew the nipple into his sucking throat. It was that blessed degradation that sent a deep interior ambrosia flowing through her and out into his drawing mouth. Oh God. What did it matter now? She was crying hopelessly, for she could feel her nipple hard and quivering in his mouth and she wanted it there.
A sudden rage swept through Celia that shook her even harder than the crying and the sobbing. She caught his head somehow in her hands, pressed it to her flaming breast for a long moment, and then tore it away. "Let me up... just let me up for a moment." Celia managed to struggle out of his grasp and stand, feeling the fury harden her like molten lava cooling.
She leaped up on the picnic table and began tearing her dress off and her bra and her pantyhose that were already hanging on her thighs. The rage had seized her, and she sobbed and cried and tore off her clothes like a madwoman. A shaft of moonlight came through the trees and bathed her in its golden spotlight.
At last Celia stood naked in the soft light. Patrick swallowed and choked! He had never seen anything more beautiful as she stood in the eerie light like a vision of some unearthly beauty, and he was frozen in awe for a long moment. The convex and the concave, the hillocks and the valleys, the secret hollows. She stood on that improvised stage, carved by the light like a living breathing goddess!
Patrick could see the amazing complexity of arms rounding into shoulders that gradually rounded and swelled into the full heaviness of her ripened breasts. They were rose-tipped and proud, upright on the slender stem of her ribs, that narrowed to her fragile waist and then swelled so gradually to rounded hips and long perfect thighs that swept down to beautifully boned knees and on to rounding calves and delicate ankles and feet. He knew now what being stunned meant, for he was stunned, excited, and a terrible urgency was building in his already fully aroused loins.
If it was a role she played on her stage in the spot of the moon, she could never have a better audience. Patrick knew too well how he could be affected by a truly great performance. It was what was going to make him a public figure to be reckoned with. He was going to change the whole damn crazy world by just such tactics... giving the people some drama, some emotion, some conflict that raised the blood in their sluggish veins.
Celia looked into the darkness to Patrick, still crouched like an animal ready to pounce, and the blinding hot anger was still in her. "There!" she screamed scathingly, her legs planted apart, hands on naked hips. "Isn't this what you wanted... what you all want... the only thing you want!" Her hands came up to cup her breasts to him in offering, and then she ran them down her smooth belly and down her wide standing thighs. "Well... here I am." Her arms were flung wide and her head was thrown back. "Just waiting for you!" A sob caught her, and it was as though she'd taken an arrow or a knife through the belly. She crumpled slowly down, sitting in the pool of her clothes with bent head, shaking in the infernal depth of loneliness and despair... a living statue to the hell within the heaven of the human spirit.
The frogs croaked questioningly, and Patrick moved then. He leaped up to gather her quaking, hopeless naked body in his arms. The feel of that naked girl in his arms, pressed to him so close, and the power of her as she'd stood there, tightened his throat feverishly to smother his pitying sympathy. Oh God, this was a night that would persist in his memory until he died.
Patrick was so moved by the little drama she had played that he was caught up in it too. "You're the dearest, sweetest, loveliest..." He kissed her deeply and fiercely, his hands moving over her silken curves like sensors, shoulders, back, arms, legs, breasts, belly, throat. She lay quiet and did not fight now in his arms. Celia let his hands stray wherever they would, and Patrick felt they could never feel enough of her smooth, warm nakedness. Her body still convulsed in little jerks with the easing sobs, but her nipples popped out eagerly in his hot palms to hard burning little poker tips of fire.
Celia could feel Patrick's laving hands and hungry mouth urging her helpless body back to life with expert ministrations. She could feel his hot hands warming her and coaxing her tired flesh. She let him do what he would. It could not matter what befell her body now, the hollow shell, the empty prison.
One hand around her back and the other hand cupping her fully firm mound of breast, his mouth sunk on her yielding one, Patrick awkwardly removed his shirt except for that one arm. Leaning, he pressed her down until she lay stretched on the table like a marble effigy in the moonlight. Quickly he shucked the rest of his clothes and lay down beside her. His huge upstanding jerking prick looked like a thick murderous weapon against her soft passive whiteness.
Catching his breath at her naked loveliness, he leaned on one elbow and looked his fill down the length of her incredible beauty. Everything was fashioned for his delight... the firm hills of her white and rose breasts, the sloping plain of her waist dipping to the shallow valley of her belly, the dense forest of her mons pubis, the long round ridges of her thighs that joined at the gates of heaven. He hardly knew where to start in his explorations. Whatever he had done he had done it right, for there she lay... the beautiful creature called Celia Brown... all his!
An insinuating tingle undulated up Celia's inner arm, the tender sensitive skin licked by Patrick's hot tongue from her elbow to her armpit. She shivered and her breath caught and held as that tongue continued around her armpit and down the little hollow and up the steep mountain of her breast to the summit of her nipple and the tongue and mouth claimed it for Patrick. "Ah-h-h-h-h-hhhhhhhh!" She felt the soft surrender come out her own mouth as his hand circled the base and his hot mouth sucked and worked at the peak. The tongue chased maddeningly around it and then over the aching sensitive tip, and all the while the lips were powerfully sucking.
Patrick felt a surge of power thrill through him, the power that was him, for he had brought her to this complete surrender. His cock was jerking wildly against her naked hip as his mouth ravished her breast and his hand held the soft flesh up to his hot starving mouth. Lungs were pumping ragged breaths through his nose and her breast was heaving under him, rising up to him.
Moving to the other neglected breast, Patrick insinuated his head onto her arm and it circled his head, pressing his face into the soft pillow of her rising breast, the nipple in his mouth. He lay sucking contentedly as though his belly were filling with the nourishment it needed. His hand fondled and caressed, feeling the soft contours of the other breast, the hip, the waist, the belly, and the long sleek thighs.
Celia gave herself to the racing streaks of lewd excitement that darted like quicksilver through her veins and nerves. She was being both drained and emptied... filled and surfeited by his ravishing hand and succubus mouth. Her arms and hands clutched his curly red head to her greedy breast that arched ever closer to the warm wet titillations of his bold aggressive tongue and lips. A poignant drawing in of her vaginal walls sent a yearning, wanting, pleading sensation pulling through her whole belly and abdomen.
Kneading and smoothing and squeezing the pliant flesh under his fingers, Patrick's hand scouted cautiously down her firm belly to the crisp pale brown forest growing densely on her mound of Venus. He inched ever downward until his fingertip touched her aperture at the upper end and found the soft velvety flesh damp and moist. A little further and it became wet with the dew of her love juice, slick and slippery and honeyed. His sliding finger stroked back and forth, tracing the whole narrow furrow that was preparing a way for his burgeoning rod, opening and greasing his way into the secret passage.
"Oh-h-hhhhhh... sweet... ohhhh... God," groaning, Patrick rolled half onto her yielding body and kissed over her throat and shoulders and breasts and down her ribs and belly, covering her body with saliva-wet warm-lipped kisses until he reached the little triangular curled mat of hair. He kissed that too, and the tender skin where thighs joined trunk. At last he lay between those beautiful trembling thighs and gazed at the folds of pink flesh, gleaming invitingly in the soft light. The lips were swollen and sopping, drenched and bathed in the lubrications that seeped from deep within the recess to spill a hot sticky mantle of fluid over her pussy.
Celia could feel his hot breath searing her privates, but she was still floating in the glow of his hands and kisses, encased in a globule of warmth like a drop of oil that floated on the surface of deep water. Nothing but the warmth and lassitude and delicious feeling of ease and yearning was important. Suddenly she felt a searing blazing poker-hot probe rake her vulva from bottom to top. She arched and screamed, her scorched flesh rising, "No-o-o-o-o-!" Oh dear God! What was he doing? The globule was broken, and a thousand sparkling droplets separated and became her jangling nerve ends.
Raising her head, Celia looked down to where Patrick lay between her opened thighs, his hands pressing her even wider to a split, and she saw his head dip and felt the flame lick along her slit again. God in heaven... he was licking her privates... licking her vulva... her pussy... her snatch! She thought she had sunk to the depths of degradation before when Web had brutally showed her the weakness of her own rutting body before that terrible mirror, when he'd taken her brutally and left her blood on the sheets, when she'd watched Rosemary sucking on Bullock's penis and Web had taken Celia again and she had ridden him like a slut... but this... this was depraved and sick and lewd and perverted! She knew that Lesbians did something terrible, but she had never questioned or asked what it was... not wanting to know what sexually sick people did to each other. Celia could not believe that Patrick could want to do what he was doing!
Celia was frozen in hypnotic fascination and horrified disbelief as she watched his head dip again to her splayed flesh... her own flesh that she had never seen so close in its entirety as he did now. A moan came out her throat as she felt his hard tongue dart inside her opening like a hummingbird stabbing its beak into a flower's center. Whimpering, she tried to edge away, but his hard hands clenched her buttocks, turning her even closer to his stabbing tongue that was sending electric shocks at regular intervals zigzagging through her whole body. "No-O-O-O-OOOOOOOOOO!" she screamed, and arched her back, her head falling back to blot the perverted scene from her eyes... but the insane licking and plunging continued and she was trembling like that ravished blossom.
"Mmm-mmmmmmmmmm-mmmmmm," she heard Patrick groan, his hot mouth now exploring her swollen, quivering slit in its entirety... licking, kissing, sucking, stabbing... until she felt herself a mass of reacting tissue that paid no heed to her feeble brain's horror. Her treacherous, traitorous, villainous body liked all the sick, insane, maddening, lewdly degrading, demoralizing, tantalizing things he was doing between her legs.
Patrick licked and kissed and tongued the whole pulsating pinkness of her hot swollen-lipped cunt that he held up to his voracious mouth, for his palms supported and held her mooned ass cheeks in his hands. His little finger traced down the crack between her rounded buttocks to the tiny crumpled bud of her asshole. Celia arched her whole dripping opening pussy to his rampaging tongue that sank into the milking, quivering, clenching meaty walls of her secret hollow. She was going out of her mind, and he'd hardly touched her quaking little clit yet! This was one hot nineteen-year-old almost virgin!
Licking along the hair-fringed lips, Patrick insolated the erect tiny pseudo-phallic clitoris with his tongue, and he thought she was going to flop completely off the table! "Ahhhhh-ggggghhhh!" she screamed, catching his head in her hands, grinding her pelvis up to his pillaging tongue, and throwing her thighs even wider.
Jesus! Just touching her shaking little clit did this to her! Patrick closed his lips around it and sucked the tiny organ hard into his wet mouth, savoring the hot rutting woman smell and taste of her dripping, excited, screamingly alive arousal. It was obvious her lover boy hadn't gone down on her and initiated her properly. The thought sent prickles of lascivious anticipation up Patrick's spine, and his cock jerked sympathetically. God! She was going to come right off the pad! With renewed enthusiasm he sucked even harder on her erect clit that throbbed in shivering convulsions. The cries that spilled from her throat had scared the frogs into silence.
"Ohhhhhhhhh... ahhhhhhhhh... nooooo... oooooooo... pleasssssssseeeeeeee Goddddd!" Jolts of rapturous ecstasy were hurling through Celia's weakened body like lightning shafts through a night sky, and she thought the whole world must be igniting from the sheer celestial bliss that coursed through her. She heard screams and blubberings and wailings emit from her own lips, and her consciousness was slipping away into some black void. Without her knowledge, her hands pressed Patrick's face into her aching hole, for she could never be close enough to that ravaging mouth.
Sucking hard, Patrick's teeth began to set gently around her maddened clitoris, raking it and biting it. Celia was flipping and flopping and grinding his face into her soaking, milking, blazing suctioning cunt, her ass reaching higher and higher. He rocked his face and tongue in and out and began a frenzied fucking into her hot soaking fleshy depths.
Suddenly Celia's hands raked his skull, her fingernails leaving narrow furrows in the scalp. Her hips raised completely in mid-air and she screamed, "AAAAAAA-A-A-A-E-E-E-E-E-E-I-I-I-I!" Patrick continued his crazed tongue-fucking of her opened pussy, tasting her orgasmic juices pouring into his hot mouth like lazily erupting lava.
The insane, unearthly infinity of wild pleasure that filled Celia's loins was fusing the stars into planets, and new worlds were being born. Eruptions were occurring, and flowing molten energy from deep within her belly was running out in rivulets of rapturous, raving sensual pleasure that was an ecstasy which was bringing unbidden tears to her eyes and closing her screaming throat. There was no room for breath, and she would surely die.
Still clutching her convulsing clit in his mouth, Patrick scrambled around, bringing her thigh over his head. While she was still in the death that is life of her orgasm, he had to get his prick into the haven of her hot mouth or he couldn't stand it! He turned Celia's all but unconscious body quickly and guided her mouth down over his huge, bloated, long-suffering cock. He pushed Celia's unheeding mouth down till he thought he was going to shoot the whole load right then! The skinning sheath of her hot cavernous soft mouth over his ramming pole was almost too much!
Wearily he lay back and pulled her legs apart again and jabbed his tongue, hard and slick with her cum, deep into her palpitating pussy that was still screaming in a dying ecstasy. Patrick felt her choke on his thick thrusting shaft that was jerking for release and oozing mightily. He reached and shoved her head back down again over his naked needing cock. "Suck it for me. Tender... I'm going to make you cum again... cum with me... suck it."
At his lewd command, Celia roused enough to realize that her throat was crammed with a fleshy rod and that there was a strange sticky tangy taste in her mouth. She opened her eyes to see that the base of his great thick lusting penis was protruding from her own mouth... just as she'd seen Rosemary's mouth almost cover Bullock's enormous thing. There were red hairs almost touching her nose, and Patrick was raising his hips and stabbing her tonsils. Mewling sounds, muffled and unintelligible, came from her own still pulsating pussy! She was lying on top of his hard body, and his face was sunk again into her flesh, and she could feel the stiff tongue fucking into her still-dripping hole. Oh God! This nightmare of depravity would never end!
Celia's hips were grinding down of their own accord, and with one orgasm not quite gone she could feel the next beginning to raise and prepare for the race to even another enchantment. How could it be possible? Her churning belly proclaimed the dying spasms of one, and her insatiable hole was already trying to push close enough to Patrick's masterful tongue and mouth to seek another orgasm. Oh, there was no doubt now. She was a slut, a demented, depraved, raving slut!
Patrick lifted his hips to shove his raging, demanding, blood-gorged organ into Celia's lovely soft wet mouth and then let it slide partially out as his butt lowered. He fucked it in and out several times to give her the idea, while he fucked her dripping cunt with his own stiffened tongue. A splurge of delight roared through his taut nerves as he felt her mouth begin to take hold and suck on his throbbing, aching, needing prick. His balls clenched as he felt Celia's soft mouth tighten and suck inward on his pulsing, jerking penile member. Pulling his mouth away for a second from the hair-fringed lips of her pussy, he breathed urgently, "Suck it, baby... that's ittttt... suuuuuuuccccckkkkk... oh yesssss... suck it!"
Lips ovaling around the throbbing obscenity, Celia sucked it like a mammoth straw, drawing it hard between her teeth and lips, feeling the blood beating through its blue-veined length. Hearing Patrick's lusting harshly ragged words, she sucked the quaking length as far into her throat as possible, almost choking as it touched her tonsils and filled her mouth so completely. She could feel his face sunk deeply into her wet vulva again, and he made a slurping sound as he tongue-fucked her open furrow.
To her amazement the sticky liquid oozing from the head of his massive penis tasted strangely exciting, muskily male, and smelled a funny rank but aromatic and not unpleasant scent. Celia tasted the masculine piquancy, the tang of his pungent genitals, and unreasoningly, wild tremors of delight went coursing through her.
Not knowing how it was done, Celia let her instincts guide her. They were reliable guides, having come from millions of forebears who indulged in the pagan rites of fellation and cunnilingus long before her. The ancient blood memory told her what to do.
She ravished her warm wet tongue upon the upstanding villainous instrument, brushing and grazing along its base and wide underside to the coroneal ridge, protruding from the thick foreskin, qushing and playing with it in lapping caressing strokes. Sliding her tongue back down its enormous thickened length, she licked the wrinkled sac that held Patrick's testicles in heavy weights. Celia could hear deep groans coming from his chest, muffled by her swaying, mashing slit that ground down on his working face and burned her whole pubic area with fiery lashes. Oh God! She didn't care! She didn't care that she was a slut engaged in the foulest of debaucheries. She wanted it never to stop. She, Celia Brown, wanted it!
Patrick could feel his swollen cock being ravished and washed and laved and licked and sucked, could feel it flow along the inner roof of Celia's strange mouth. He moaned and moaned from deep in his chest into her splayed cunt. He thrust his tongue with renewed excitement between the warm fleshy folds-heard her gasp around his nudging pole-begin to suck the head feverishly. Oh Christ! There was nothing in the world as mind-blowing as 69! He sucked and fucked into her, and she swayed and bucked around his face and drew his cock agonizingly deep into her sucking throat.
Her cunt flowered open even wider like petals peeling apart, and her secretions covered his mouth and chin while he sluiced her hole with his saliva. Patrick could feel her muscles hollow and then contract as he plunged ever deeper, burrowing into her dripping pussy with wicked slices of his tongue. Celia churned and writhed above him in an obscene desire-driven dance, her little rounded ass sashaying wildly. She was going to cum again with him!
Patrick could feel the bursting dam of his balls barely holding as Celia chewed and nibbled and licked and sucked on his gargantuan cock that sawed insanely in and out of her inexpert but fervent mouth. Oh, Jesus! He could feel the prickling tingling rising fermentations in his gut, and he rammed his butt up, driving the piston of his rod ever deeper into her laboring throat. Celia's soft thighs were clenching him viciously, and he could feel the wet flesh slip around his tongue as if the hair-lined vaginal lips were going to completely consume his tongue.
The thought of shooting his boiling cum into her hot pink mucous-wet mouth was almost driving him out of his friggin' mind! He began to suck and tease her clitoris unmercifully, finally biting the little tender love button as she lurched and writhed above him. Guttural unladylike moans spilled from her too-filled mouth as she worried and pulled and drew on his bursting, jerking frantic prick. Celia was mashing the gluttonous, devouring pussy against his face, and she pulled savagely on his penis with ever-increasing speed.
Then suddenly Patrick could no longer hold his maddened, churning screaming volcano. He felt the rush of sperm begin to burst along its narrow tube just as Celia stiffened above him and screamed around his bursting cock, "AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGH!" She twisted and wrenched wantonly above him, her teeth biting into his releasing prick and then sucking furiously as the hot shooting jets of his semen soared into her hungry mouth.
"I'm...I'M CUUUUUUUMMMM-MMMIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGG!" Patrick tore his mouth away from her juicing pulsing palpitating cunt long enough to scream out his agonizingly ecstatic climax. His great cock was swelling even larger as his convulsing ejaculation poured the streams of boiling, gushing, molten sperm deeply into her swallowing, sucking throat.
Celia groaned as she sucked, and her Adam's apple flew up and down rapidly as she feverishly attempted to control the rushing, steaming squirting flow. It was an unending torrent that pumped from deep within his belly into her hungry, eager mouth.
Her back was arching, and she bucked wildly, her body quaking uncontrollably, and Patrick could feel the flood of sticky lubrication spread warmly over his face and down his cheeks. Celia thrust deeply over his spewing prick and took it to the hilt into her laboring throat as her own gyrating body mashed and ground down and rotated over his sucking, ravaging, fucking tongue.
The vengeance of his endless spasms of streaming liquid, thick hot sperm drenched her gullet. She frantically swallowed the creamy eruptions deep into her belly. Her lips clasped in a ring around his jumping penis, and she twirled her tongue around the throbbing head and sucked and sucked until at last there was no more and she felt Patrick's cock begin to slowly deflate slightly in her mouth.
Wearily he reached down and pulled her limp body around, and his mouth found Celia's, hot and sticky with his cum as his was full of hers. They kissed and tasted their own residues of heaven, and at last fell exhausted in a sprawl of arms and legs, and the frogs let out one sleepy croak.