Chapter 4
"OH, HAR-RY, YOU'RE REALLY TURNING ME ON ... OH, GET YOU TONGUE IN DEEP-ER... DEEPER ..."
It was the Wednesday, following the party at Jim and Betty's, and Angela was giving Harry a little eye-opener this morning. Her version of a Bloody Mary. That is, a non-bloody but plenty of wet Angela's cunt, which Harry was engrossed in the process of engulfing.
Harry was squatting on the mattress they called bed, his legs flat, his back and torso arching upward, almost at a 90° angle from the floor, his hands gripped firmly around the soft, yielding flesh of Angela's lovely ass. His mouth was clamped firmly over her cunt, his nose nuzzling her taut clit, his tongue playing prick inside her foaming pussy, reaming and creaming her pussy membranes with a series of stabbing tongue strikes that had her dancing for joy.
Yes, dancing.
Angela was doing her thing again, as if this was a regular morning exercise with her. She was standing on the mattress, her legs spread for balance, her hands placed on her hips, swaying her torso in circular, sensuous motions, and swinging her head like it was mounted on ball bearings. Her long dark-red hair was streaming and whirling sexily around her head. Her breasts were feeling full and nourishing, her nipples as taut as her clit. She could feel the surging liquid inside her cunt, as Harry's tongue was indeed turning her on into orgasmic and dancing bliss.
Her back buckled as she kept up her wild, waving movements. If Harry could see, like a periscope, around her hips, he would notice that her buttocks were like two round mounds of a gelatin substance.
The aroma of pussy juice was filling his nostrils, as the reality of the same stuff was now pouring into his open mouth. He lapped greedily away with his tongue, touching all the parts of her pussy membranes his tongue could get at, and at the same time trying to swallow all of the foaming stuff he could handle. His Adam's-apple was bobbing up and down at regular intervals, as the delicious juice went slipping down his throat. He could taste it, mixed with her perspiration; he could smell it, mixed with her divine body aromas; he could feel it, mixed with the ticklish sensation of her pubic hairs around the edges of his lips.
Harry's cock was coming along nicely, too.
It was throbbing with intensity, having recently reached roughly a ninety percent level of erection. His balls were straining in the confines of their scrotum, the foreskin on his monument of manliness pulled back all the way, the tip ready to burst open like a ripening flower. He would have to hold it -a little longer, though; that is, if he wanted to get his money's worth of fucking, he would. Sucking first, fucking second; so it seemed this morning.
Angela, feeling Harry's tongue driving her into new heights of ecstasy, shuddered with bliss as she continued her dancing movements. Some of her movements seemed to be loosening Harry's mouth-grip on her cunt, so she shifted her hands from her hips to Harry's hair, grabbing fistfuls of his thick brown hair in her fingers, trying in effect to pull his head even closer to her cunt, so that his tongue might trowel in that much further.
"FUCK ME WITH YOUR TONGUE, HARRY," SHE CRIED, HER VOICE PASSIONATE IN ITS EXCITED RESONANCE. "COME ON, NARY, FUCK ME REAL GOOD, I KNOW YOU CAN!"
Her dancing, it seemed, was slowing down, like a top coming to the end of its spin. Now, her body was moving more in one particular direction, toward Harry, so that her pussy could get into maximum skin contact with her man. She felt his fingernails digging into her flesh, that so-soft, velvety skin covering on her buttocks that was one of her sensitive areas. A little too tough, he was holding her. She took one hand from his hair and let her fingernails do some scratching across his knuckles, giving him the message to ease up on his grip. Even in his juice-gulping joy, he felt the message, loosened his fingers so that his grip was still firm, but not lacerating as it previously was.
She was just completing another orgasm when Harry, apparently having drunk his fill, pulled out.
He released his mouth from her pussy lips like a rubber suction cup being pulled away from its surface. He licked the dripping pussy juice from her cunt, then let his tongue slurp along his lips and chin. She was still holding on to his hair, but he grabbed her hands and said, almost gurgling out the words, "Goddam it, Angela, get down. ... get your ass down here, so I can get my dick inside you.
She heard.
But, she teased him a little by tugging that much harder at his hair, trying in effect, to make him do the moving, to get up himself and come to her be-fore he could come in her.
Harry wasn't buying that, no, not the way liis rod felt.
He grabbed hold of her again, his fingers having slipped off her perspiring hands before. This time, he got a better grip on her wrists, and pulled her down toward himself. He also moved his knees so as to collide with her ankles, causing her to lose her balance a little, and sort of slide down, spreading her legs in a straddle, so that her cunt came into contact with his cock.
She shuddered convulsively as his flat, wide head hit her clit, and she felt the immediate electric jolt that flowed throughout her nervous system. Her orgasmic motions increased, she could feel her cunt convulsing again as he diddled her clit with his dick. He felt the slim, erect appendage shivering with contact with him, and he knew he was really giving her a good sexual shock.
Then, he got his hands on her breasts.
Digging his fingers -- but not his fingernails this time -- into her quivering flesh, he got hold of her big boobs by their tops, his thumbs diddling with her nipples and making her vibrate with exultation that much more. As he pulled her closer, so that she was, in effect, straddling him, he moved his cock so that it rubbed against her cunt lips. Then, giving her a few more thrills by manipulating those lips, trying to stretch them out into the shape of an "0," he got his cock at the entrance of her cunt, and rammed it inside.
She let out a great, gurgling scream as Harry, bracing his haunches and back against the mattress, rammed his instrument all the way in, inch by inch, in one long, continuous motion. He felt her pussy membranes opening up to allow him unrestricted passage, felt her body shuddering that much more in the throes of lust. Her tits felt beautiful, like two ripe tomatoes in his hands. He kept on driving, feeling her magnificent responses, until his cock was securely jammed tightly inside her cunt.
She was thrashing wildly, almost knocking the both of them off balance, as he thrust himself inside her, straining to keep himself from falling back-wards. His cock twitched as if it had a separate life of its own, as her orgasmic convulsions increased. She could feel his fingers manipulating her titties, and the stabs of pleasure shot through her chest, her breasts heaving, her nipples tweaking. She was overflowing like a flooded river, and her juice was dripping down her legs and onto his crotch and legs.
His cock blasted loose its heavy load of sperm, shooting straight out, in a long, steady stream, striking her sensitive membranes like a hot, burning iron. She gasped as the full force of his load hit her, and her cunt twitched and responded, clutching his cock hard in a cast-iron grip. Her body arched, and her strange dancing movements began again, as she shifted her hips simultaneously with her spastic sexual movements inside her cunt. His cock kept on shooting off its stuff, as he felt her churning responses, felt her membranes tight hold on him. He groaned with relief, and his fingers kept on twisting her tits as if he was trying to open two safes. He kept on fucking her until his prick began to soften, to lose its lovely stiffness. Slowly, as it began to become limp, he gradually pulled himself loose and, as he did so, hearing that distinctive sound of a soft "pop," he pushed her down on the mattress, so that they could lie side by side.
He was still holding onto her breasts, his crotch nuzzling at hers, as he felt her mouth moving toward his ear. He thought she was going to tongue him, as she often did, right after enjoying sex.
He was wrong.
Instead, she whispered into his ear, "You promised to take me surfing today. Remember?"
For christ's sake, he thought, what a silly-ass thing to say at a moment like this!
He started to protest. Then, he remembered; she was right, he had promised to show her some surfing tricks. He was a goddam good surfer, and plenty proud of the fact.
Now, she tongued him a little, as if implying that, after the surfing, they'd have some more sex. And, of course, she would do her take-it-off-thing, as she had done earlier this morning, before he had started eating her and screwing her.
Well, he was tired, but not knocked-out-on-his-ass tired. Sure, he'd show her some tricks; and, they wouldn't all be surfing ones, either.
Then, he hesitated.
He suddenly remembered that screwed-up Sun-day on the beach, when she'd gotten gang-banged because she'd messed around with her "stripping" routine. Would this turn out that same way again? He'd be goddamned if it would. He'd make sure the only board she surfed on would be his own broad prick. That was for sure.
"All right, Angela, let's rest up for a few minutes, and then we'll go surfing," he said, patting her ass gently. Then, he remembered something else, and said, "Hey, we haven't had breakfast yet. How about getting us some right now, OK?"
She laughed softly. She guessed that she could do that much for her man this morning.
Accordingly, she brought him some toast and jam, strawberry flavored, with a cup of black coffee. She had some sweet rolls and a glass of milk.
About an hour after breakfast, giving their food time to get settled, he got out their surfboards. They were fiberglass, smooth and highly polished: On his board was painted one word: HIS, in blood-red. On hers: HERS in bright orange.
Placing the two boards over his head like a porter, they started out walking along the beach, feeling the sand gritty but good against their toes. She was wearing one of her dozen or so bikinis, with cleavage showing, and as always, a few tufts of reddish pubic hairs poking out. His swim trunks were slim and sparse, basic black; but, if he ever got an erection, that fact would be far from remaining a private manner.
It was a cool, cloudy day; not too cool, but hardly the best beach weather, either. Normally, he thought he'd have to apply persuasion to get her to go surfing with him, because she was afraid of being bounced into water with a temperature of less than 80°. But, as she spotted the good-sized crowds -- beach ball addicts, muscle-building nuts, and just guys out for a good time and wandering around -- she felt a warm glow inside. Her clit tingled, her cunt shivered with eager anticipation. Here was a good crowd, lots of guys and more guys than girls, who could, and no doubt would, appreciate her physical charms and dancing offerings. Yes, an audience that couldn't help but make Angela happy -- and maybe make her as well.
That crowd didn't exactly make Harry happy, though.
When he saw it's size -- he figured a couple of hundred guys, not more than 50 or 60 chicks -- he sighed out loud. Well, he'd still handle things, he'd get her out on the board right now, before anybody had a chance to mess around with her.
"Come on, Angela," he said, gesturing toward the splashing surf as he dropped their boards on the sand. "You said you wanted to go surfing, so let's get going right now."
She nodded, picking up her board.
"Oh, look," she said, pointing with her head, in a direction away from the water. "Look at what that girl is doing, right in front of everybody."
Harry looked.
He didn't see anything special, just x crowd of senior citizens unpacking picnic baskets a few hundred yards away. Then, he turned toward Angela, hearing her girlish giggling as he did so. She had conned him. She was racing for the foaming surf, her board under her arm, getting a head start on him as she caught a big one and started surfing away from the shore.
He felt his cock twitch in anger, rising slightly beneath his trunks. He watched her ride the waves, her body moving in direct relationship to the shifting surges of the cool blue water. On her first surf of the day, she didn't miss a beat; like a great drummer working out, as she smoothly rode the whiplashing waves, her surfboard cresting high and her hair blowing wildly behind her.
Harry had to wait for the next wave.
And, while he was waiting, he couldn't help noticing a crowd suddenly collecting right around him. Naturally, the word was out that Angela was showing off her stuff.
"Really knows how to ride those waves, doesn't she?"
"A beautiful broad on that board, I wouldn't get bored boring her with my board, myself."
Harry felt jealousy building up within himself. Even the comments were obviously made in playful jest, his cock trembled with overtones of lust. He should be on that board with her right now, like the guy said, boring into her with his big wide board, reminding her who was paying the rent for both of them.
He saw the waves looking favorable, hoisted his board atop his head, and went running for the water. He paddled out with the tide, searching for a big one to ride home with. The waves were pretty good, and, as he'd suspected, the water was chilly, causing him to shiver for the first few minutes he was in it. Still, he didn't mind; he liked surfing almost as much as sex.
He mounted the board, catching the crest of a good-sized wave. He rode it out, catching a couple of more waves, trying to ride parallel to the shore-line, showing off some of his stuff before making the big ride into shore.
He watched Angela, standing proudly on her surfboard, heading for the shoreline. She had her breasts thrust proudly forward, her hands out-stretched for balance. He could hear the guys applauding, even over the roar of the waves. Time to swing around and head back toward the beach, be-fore anything he didn't want to happen could hap-pen.
Catching the crest of a really big one, he rode steadily, his balance poised, his hands outstretched and his knees bent in just the right angles. Yes, he was well on his way to a perfect ride, just the same kind of ride he watched Angela make as she hit the shore and was immediately surrounded by admiring male figures.
He hit a sudden surge of undertow, strong enough to suddenly pull the board downward.
His feet slipped, and he pitched face first into the surf and sand, his shoulders getting scraped by the sand on the shoreline. It could have been worse; he could have landed on his head, or even his ass.
When he finally got up, scraping sand off his skin and spitting out water, he looked around for Angela. There were only a few others surfing anyway, but he couldn't quite see her, until he staggered up to the crowd of guys and peeked over some shoulders, craning his neck to catch sight of her.
Yes, there she was.
Surrounded by men. Some of them were offering to simionize her surfboard, others to show her some intricate surfboard maneuvers. Still more, making suggestions that had nothing whatsoever to do with surfing.
Harry, using his board almost like a club, shoved his way through the throng. Confronting her, he said, a touch of irritation in his voice, "Hey, don't let all that praise go to your head. Let's do a twin surfing routine, if you really want to do something exciting." He paused, adding, with a sly wink, "I'll bet I can do it better than you."
Angela laughed, then frowned; she didn't really feel like leaving the admiring crowd quite yet. By the way she was swaying her buttocks as she spoke, Harry could see that she was in one of those exhibitionistic moods again. She usually was, anyway.
He glanced down, from force of habit, at his crotch. He didn't even have to feel it this time, he could see his equipment starting to poke through. A few fellows also noticed, and he heard familiar snickers in distinctly male inflections.
Angela, pouting at him, licked her lips, then said, "Do we have to do it right now?"
Some of the guys laughed at that comment. Sever-al others felt tremors in their trunks similar to those Harry was experiencing, as they gave out sickly smiles to disguise their discomfort -- their discomfort because they could hardly hope to rape her right on the beach, in sight of all their competition, could they?
As for Angela, she was feeling those delightful sensations of movement from her center of gravity. Her clit trembled with tautness, her cunt began to drop a few drops of liquid. Her breasts were burgeoning into ripeness beneath her bikini tops, showing a few more inches of fresh cleavage for the guys to ogle their eyes about.
Harry said nothing, just gestured for her to get going with him. She winked at him, and started to follow his lead, her board tucked underneath her arm.
Harry led her to an inlet, where they could more easily get out into the ocean, farther out. They put their boards together, one on top of the other. Their hands touching on top of the boards, they swam away from shore together.
When they were some several hundred yards out, they loosened their boards, pointed them toward shore, and climbed on top, ready to "race" each other to the shore.
At that particular place, the waves were nice and easy, the right kind of relaxed surfing waves. It was no problem to merely "float" practically all the way to shore, should they wish to do it the easy way.
Harry wished to; but, apparently not Angela.
The second she was standing on her board, she started to dance.
That is, she began to shift her body -- supposedly to better balance herself upon the surfboard -- in such an ass-twitching, hip-swiveling manner that, just from seeing such activities, he could feel his prick rising almost enough to throw him off his delicate surfboarding balance.
"For Christ's sake, Angela," he shouted over the roar of the waves. "Knock it off, will you?"
If she heard his words, she paid no attention.
As he watched, almost in horror, she unsnapped her bikini top and began to flag-wave it, exactly as she'd done countless times before. Only, never while straddling a surfboard.
Harry became so agitated that he almost lost his footing, and had to fight to stay upright, as they both surfed towards shore.
As he tried to keep his own board under control, he had to admire the way she was both surfing and shimmying at the same time. He could hardly believe she was managing such a difficult feat. She was doing it so beautifully. He felt tremors of pride, even in his prick.
He glanced toward the shoreline.
Sure enough, as he'd expected, there were a group of guys standing around, cheering her on. Some of them were clicking away with still cameras and others shooting away with movie cameras, capturing his chick's "topless" act on film forever.
It made him so mad his prick stood all the way up.
Angela was still waving her bikini top over her head, like some sort of surfing trophy. The water was gleaming like a fine mist on her beautiful breasts, their lovely, conical curves thrusting forward with great ferocity. Those beautiful breasts, whose fine, symmetrical lines had previously known only his eyes and fingers now were exposed outside his own home for the first time (he wanted to believe) to outsiders.
They were almost at the shoreline.
It was treacherous at this particular place, and Harry hunched himself down so that he wouldn't lose his balance. He made it safely, his surfboard sliding properly over the wet sand. He hopped off, just in time to see Angela, still doing her topless dance, hit the shoreline, also in perfect balance.
She hopped right off her board before it stopped coasting, still waving the bikini top. The guys gave her another huge round of applause. Some of the girls, however, were less than enthusiastic. They merely smiled thinly or nodded slightly.
Two of the "muscle men" with gigantic, bulging biceps hoisted Angela on top of their shoulders. Angela's expression was almost enigmatic, as if she was trying to act modest yet also appear excited.
"Hey, sweetheart, how about an encore?"
"Yeah, this time, take it all off!"
As if on cue, several other men began chanting, "Take it off -- take it all off!"
This kept on for a few more minutes, while Harry stood by, outside the circle of men that had closed in around his girlfriend. He wished he'd learned karate the last time he'd worked at the Y; it would have come in handy now.
As if in response to the chanting, he could hear Angela's voice rising above the crowd, as she cried, "Well, if you fellows really want me to take it all off, you've got to give me the chance ..." She laughed. "... so get the hell out of my way, will you?"
The two muscle men lowered her to the sand, clearing a path for her. She grabbed her board, and was quickly heading out to sea.
A fat girl with long braids and thick glasses, standing near Harry, tapped him on the shoulders, glancing at his crotch as she did so, and said, "That's your chick?"
He nodded.
"I wouldn't let her loose on this beach if I were you. She's dangerous to the morale of every other gal on this beach, including yours truly." Then, placing her hand right over his crotch and giving him a comradely squeeze of the balls, she whispered, "Now, if you'd like to discuss this further, why don't you come over to my place and we can ..."
She stopped suddenly; Harry had grabbed her by her floppy boobs, squeezing them nastily for several seconds. Then, he yanked her hand away from his crotch and walked away, shaking his ass in her face.
Arriving at the-shoreline, he could feel his penis still taut with excitement. He watched his girl, who now was so far out in the ocean he could barely follow her without binoculars.
But, when she started surfing back toward shore, he had no problem noticing that, in response to the guys' chants, she'd torn off the bottom of her bikini and was riding her surfboard naked.
The guys started up their cheering and chanting, urging Angela on, as she retained her balance and started her dancing movements again, waving her bikini bottom above her head. Luckily, the waves were gentler this time, so that, even with the wild gyrations her magnificent body was going through, she still seemed to have little difficulty in keeping her balance on the board.
However, Harry was having difficulty keeping his. His emotional balance; and, his gential balance. His cock was ready to rip right through the fabric of his swimming trunks.
As Angela swooped into shore, he started toward her, feeling like grabbing and stabbing her, right on the sand, maybe even right on her own surfboard. She barely had time to step off the board before Harry jumped on the board himself, grabbed her hands, and shouted, "What the hell is the matter with you, Angela? Taking off your goddam clothes in front of all these people? You think you're working in a strip show, or something?"
Annoyed, she tried to free herself, saying, "Harry, I have nothing to hide, I'm proud of my body! So what if others look at it? I think it's a work of art, and art isn't something to be looked at in a dark museum by a bunch of old people on a Sunday
afternoon!"
As if to emphasize her artistic attitude, she thrust her breasts forward, her taut nipples now only a few inches away from Harry's goggling eyes.
Well, Harry couldn't help it, the sight of her sun-tanned, buck-naked body was driving him wild. He thrust his head forward, going down while still holding her hands, and clamped his mouth over her right breast.
He started to suck her breast, his tongue still licking at the nipple, while his lips licked hungrily at her base. She said nothing; she just stood there. There was a strange, almost hypnotic, look in her green cat's eyes, as Harry, almost out of his skull with excitement at her exposure, sucked away savagely at her tit.
She liked it, she enjoyed the expert handling he was giving her with his mouth. Her pussy juice started flowing, and her clit was as erect as Harry's cock. She could feel her pubic hairs becoming damp, deliciously so.
Harry now moved over to her left breast, as the crowd, remaining strangely silent so far, suddenly started shouting words of encouragement -- this time, to Harry.
"Give her a good bite on the boob for me, man!"
"Looks like real eating stuff, guy -- go to it!"
But, as he was doing so, a couple of mischievous guys got around on either side of him, and managed to pull down Harry's trunks so that his erect rod was fully exposed.
Dig the size of that guy's dick!"
"Yeah, it's so fucking wide I'll bet he has to back up and go through his front door sideways!"
Now Harry was embracing Angela, his hands grabbing her by her long hair, pulling hard at the roots so that her head arched back in surprise. Her mouth opened wide, the lips forming the big "0", and his tongue snaking inside that lovely mouth, he kissed her full on the lips.
As she responded with her lips squashing against his and her tongue tangling with his, his cock rubbed against her clit, setting her hips into another set of swiveling motions, her cunt lips teasing the tip of his cock. Harry shifted his own sexual gears, thrusting his cock forward, so that it lodged just inside her cunt entrance.
The crowd was really cheering, urging both of them on. If there were any cops or lifeguards around, they must have been cheering, too. At least, there were, so far, no negative comments from the crowd.
Angela, feeling Harry's cock demanding entrance, reached around his waist and grabbed his ass, driving him inside. They were both still standing, until this movement of hers, which caused Harry to slip on the still wet surfboard, falling flat on the board on his back -- with Angela still with him, only this time on top.
Now, both of them parallel to the sand, she started vibrating her body, shaking her ass, as Harry, coming into her like a submarine, got his torpedo inside his target. Her cunt closed vice-tight around his cock, and she started pumping out pussy juice, her back arching and her legs twirling about wildly in the air.
Harry, bracing his back against the board, thrust his prick inside her pussy with savage intensity. He began moving about inside her cunt. She responded with a strong orgasm, her entire body giving itself over to the thrills of sex, right on the surfboard.
As Harry was getting ready to give it to her, a couple of twins -- young, bleached-blond guys with trim figures and wide sunglasses, both smoking long black cigars -- gushed their way through the surrounding throng. They were wearing street clothes, and had the cool, tough ambience of cops. One said, "We're plainclothes police, what's going on here?" The other added, "Yeah, whatever you're all doing is illegal, and we might arrest the entire beach if this shit doesn't stop right now."
The crowds started backing away. Harry, how-ever, continued to manipulate his wide, wiggling organ inside his chick's hole, and she was really perspiring, her hair stuck to her shoulders and fell partially into Harry's face as she was fucking the living shit out of his stiff, struggling prick. He was jumping and humping, groaning with sheer exertion, not even noticing the two guys with the cigars.
"It's very much against the law," the first one said, winking at his companion.
"Not if we do it with them," the second guy chuckled, taking a thoughtful puff on his cigar.
The first one understood.
He watched the second one place his cigar into Angela's passionate, pouting mouth. Angela, feeling something long and hot inside her lips, started puffing, and a torrent of smoke almost obscured her face. The first guy then stuck his cigar between her lips, so that she had a cigar in each corner of her mouth.
The first guy glanced down at his crotch, which was beginning to reveal a strongly burgeoning erection. He said to his companion, "This gal is turning me on, I guess. What should I do about that?"
"Same thing I'm going to do," his companion commented, also noticing his own pants being pegged outward as his own prick was growing. "Just do my duty, that's all."
As if rehearsed, in unison, both guys unzipped their flies, and twin cocks popped out, blue-veined and limber, pink-tipped and tumescent, just about ready for the ultimate thrill; on duty or off.
Angela, almost coughing with the twin cigars, did not like to let go. Even though tobacco instead of skin and muscle, she still loved the feel of anything shaped like a cock inside her mouth. Puffing and coughing, she set up blue clouds of concealment for what the so-called cops were going to do next.
The first one put his cock right into her right ear and, bracing himself with both feet, started to fuck her. The second one got her in the left ear, and began to jab and stab with his dick, both of them now making strange sounds in their throat and feeling their balls stretching to the breaking point as their instruments got ready to shoot off a load.
Angela, now feeling herself being fucked in four separate entrances simultaneously, was wriggling, her back arching, her entire body vibrating with visions of an army of stiff, swinging cocks marching into her in close formation, a sort of military-like fucking fantasy that was becoming etched in her brain. She dropped the cigars, though; the smoke was just too much for her. Her mouth gasped life-giving air, like a fish flopped out on the beach and baking in the sun.
The twin coppers came simultaneously, and she felt steaming sperm jerking her head this way and that, as each came in such a rhythm that her entire head was shaking from the power of their twin
pricks.
Harry, meanwhile, had got some of the fallout, some hot ashes sprinkled on his back, from the cigars. He screamed as his skin scorched, and this caused him to let loose his load.
In a series of sharp, short bursts, he spilled forth a fistful of sperm into her twitching pussy. Its membranes opening and closing like her mouth was doing, clutching his cock with lustful abandon. At the same time, his mouth sought hers out, his teeth giving her fast, poignant love bites on her upper lips, his tongue then slipping inside and connecting with her own. She felt his tongue stabbing at her mouth membranes, while the splashing sperm from the twins poured into her ears and streamed down the sides of her sweating face. Harry's dick was still banging away, not wanting to quit, as he felt her forever-fascinating vaginal muscles massaging his member in one of her never-ending orgasms, crushing his cock in that live-giving, sex-loving embrace he had learned to know, and love, so well.
Though Harry wasn't sure, he thought he felt, rather than heard, Angela's vocal chords trying to form a word. If he was correct, there was only one word she could have conceived of uttering.
"More ... more ... MORE ..."