Chapter 5
Lynn's eyes were closed, her legs apart, when she felt another stiff cock slide unannounced between the unprotected portals of her slack, tender pussy-mouth.
Her eyes flew open. Don Winthrop stood between her legs, the head of his long, slender dong already imbedded in the entrance of her warm, open cunt. His hips hung in the balance, his prick poised for the long, delicious plunge into her sensitized, quivering emit-depths.
'Please,' she said. 'Not yet. I want to rest a minute.'
"I can't wait, Lynn," Don Winthrop said, plunging his hard stabbing cock deep. "I can't wait one more second."
She put her legs around him, automatically, not feeling anything, but moving her hips in sympathy with his thrusting, driving need.
He was right about not being able to wait. He came, in a frantic, shuddering, gasping orgasm, his swiftly shuttling cock whipping the wetness of her twat to a rabid froth. She squeezed him close with her legs while his pumping spasms subsided.
"Later," she whispered to him. "Later. When you can take your time."
Maybe later was all right for Don Winthrop, but it wasn't all right for the Messrs. Bellows and Montagna and Denthos. Mr. Denthos had taken off every stitch of his clothing and was leaning back against the wall, smiling, his body relaxed in every line except for the startling, long white erection that stood out from his body at an angle above the horizontal. It was an amazingly long cock, Lynn noticed, and seemed even longer because of its slenderness and the unmarred snowy whiteness of its entire length. Only the head showed a delicate, blushing pink at the very tip-tilting, pointing end.
She wrenched her gaze from the fascination of Mr. Denthos' remarkable dork, wondering inanely whether he thought in Greek or Latin while he fucked. At the side of the table next to her, Mr. Bellows stood with Mr. Montagna, both naked from the waist down, both with hard, fully erect cocks. Good-sized, stiff, panting, eagerly expectant cocks, she noticed. Mr. Bellows' was blonder in shade, and possibly a trifle thicker, like Mr. Bellows himself, but aside from that there was nothing to choose between them.
They were intently engaged in cutting the neglected deck of cards.
Mr. Montagna cut first.
"Nine," he said, his voice trembling a little, his eyes on Lynn's damp, beckoning, pinkly parted slit. She drew her legs together, but the small concealment her thighs afforded did nothing to dampen their ardor. They knew what was there, waiting for them.
Mr. Bellows cut the cards, deeply.
"Jack of spades," he said, and smiled triumphantly at Mr. Montagna. "I'm next'
He put his hands between Lynn's knees and pressed them gently apart.
"I'd really like to rest a while," she said, but she didn't try to resist the pressure of his hands.
"I'm sorry, dear," Mr. Bellows said. "You can rest later. And this won't last long, I'm afraid."
He didn't last long, either. Not much longer than Don Winthrop had. But by the time Mr. Bellows did come, Lynn's hips were pumping again in earnest, not in sympathy, and she was disappointed that he came so soon. She'd have been able to come again herself, and her cunt clutched at his withdrawing limp pecker.
But her disappointment was over in a second. Mr. Montagna slid his probing rod into her immediately, and took up the rhythm where the big man, Bellows, had left off. Lynn wrapped her legs around him happily, and began to moan as she pumped her hips, driving her welcoming cunt-lips tight against his pounding pelvis.
Mr. Montagna lasted a long time, and Lynn held herself at a high level of ecstatic pleasure until his rhythm increased to a wild, ungovernable pace; then she came with him, gasping and groaning in her deep delight.
She lay back in complete exhaustion as Mr. Montagna backed off and withdrew his limp, slimy, tired prick.
Her eyes were closed when she felt someone else move between her spread knees. For the moment, she'd forgotten Mr. Denthos, the Latin or Greek or whatever teacher, but when she opened her eyes, he was there, smiling, his long, slim snow bank of a prick poised at her closing wet pussy-portals.
"Oh, please," she said. 'Not now. Later. Please, do it later."
"I can understand that you're getting bored," Mr. Denthos said. "Perhaps you'd like some variety?"
"I don't know," she said, weakly. "What I'd really like is a little sleep."
"Of course, my dear," he said softly. "In another minute or so."
He was raising her legs slowly, resting her calves on his forearms, until he'd lifted her legs completely upward and the backs of her ankles rested against the front of his shoulders. She felt the hard, slender, pointed tip of his rigid prick slide downward, between her wet twat lips, down the entire length of her slippery, softly yielding crevice, and out again at the bottom end. The small, diamond-shaped, diamond-hard head of his cock was now lodged between the swelling, soft, white mounds of her ass.
"Oh, no," she said, "don't bugger me. Don't fuck me up the ass."
But it was too late. His hands had hooked up under her hips from the rear, and his own hips pushed forward, thrusting with a steady, relentless pressure.
The tiny aperture of her asshole constricted, indignantly resisting the invasion of the stiff, pointed spearhead. Then it seemed to relent, through no will of hers, and she felt the head of Denthos' cock enter her utmost intimacy.
Involuntarily, her hips rose upward, aid she felt the stiff shaft sliding deep, through the smooth mounds that twitched nervously, but only served to welcome the invasion, rather than repulse it Then, his flat belly was mashed tight against the yielding mounds of her ass, flattening them, and she heard herself utter a long, quivering moan, deep in her throat.
He flicked .her up the ass, then, with precision and control, and a strangely disciplined delight. He seemed totally unconcerned by the wild flailing of her legs, the ungovernable thrashing of her hips, and when he finally did reach orgasm, there was a dreamlike look on his normally austere countenance.
When he withdrew from the tight puckered em-brace of her usually chaste anus, she drew her legs up and rolled over on her side on the felt-covered table, ready to go to sleep right there, like a travel weary child.
But the fatherly Mr. Bellows took her tenderly by the hand, helped her off the table, and led her to a dimly-lighted bedroom, down a dim hallway. The wide bed, with its fresh white sheets and the blanket turned back, looked like heaven to her. She fell into it, face down, and went to sleep without turning over.
She awoke when the weight of a body slanted the mattress down toward one side of the bed. When she opened her eyes, she saw that it was Don Winthrop sitting there on the bed beside her, stark naked, with his hard, twitching cock slanting upward toward a corner of the ceiling.
"Good morning," she said. "How long was I asleep?"
"Not long. Maybe an hour?!
"I guess I needed it. The sleep, I mean."
"I guess you did. Do you feel better now?"
"I didn't feel bad before. Only a little drunk, or something. And tired."
"And you're not tired now?"
"No."
"Are you ready for some more, ah, exercise?" The upward pulsing of his rigid dork seemed to quicken, and the head seemed to be swelling. She could see it even in the semi-darkness.
"Well," she said, "I can try. And this is a little more civilized than the top of the table. A little more ladylike." She laughed. What had gotten into her tonight? She answered her own question. A lot of things. A lot of cocks, all sizes and shapes.
She lay back, contentedly passive, with her legs spread wide, ultimately accommodating. But Don Winthrop stretched out beside her, propped on an elbow, and bent over to kiss her. She opened her mouth in surprise, and his tongue found hers. She reached down without hesitation, and grasped his throbbing shaft. He broke the kiss to come up for air.
"It's all right," she said. "I'm ready for you, ready to fuck, right now."
And she was, she knew, as she guided the eager, rock-hard head of his taut prong to her warm, wet, gulping cunt. From now on, she thought, as he slid the shaft home, she'd always be ready....
The poker players took turns fucking her till two in the morning. She was numbly, but contentedly, exhausted when she drove home.
Nothing mattered, she thought, as she fell into bed. She didn't care if tomorrow never came. She was asleep without any further thought.