Chapter 10

The thing that surprised Clara the most was that she had never expected it to be this much fun. It never had been before. But this time, as her mouth opened and her head moved forward to engulf that marvellous passion prod, she felt her lips, her tongue, her whole face suddenly as filled with lusting desire as her cant.

And abruptly he was busy again down there, licking, kissing, suck puffing her slit, sending her to new heights of ecstasy as his work-toughened hands caressed, squeezed and memorized the firm roundness of her ass. She felt a rising storm center in her belly, knew that if she didn't watch it she was going to be wailing, waving her legs, kicking and shrieking again. And she had duties of her own to perform!

She had taken custody of that essentially male organ -- firm and upstanding in its element, yet so pitiably vulnerable. She had it in her mouth and she intended to keep it there for a while, but not too long --not so long as to waste a round of erotic ammunition.

The boy was licking lustily away, running a loving tongue up the tender inner surface of one labium and down the other, stopping occasionally for a delightful and unexpected foray into her passion flushed vagina, darting his tongue from some unexpected angle to titillate some tiny fold never touched by cock. Whenever he tired of these erotic exercises, he returned to his delightful licking, kissing and suck puffing of her clit. Clara wondered if she had died and gone to heaven. If she had, it most assuredly was not a Christian heaven where people got their pallid and bloodless turn-ons from playing harps.

She tried to get her mind back on her business, back onto that luscious lump of meat that throbbed between her teeth. She closed her jaws gently until her teeth were digging ever so faintly into the rumpled folds where his peeled-back foreskin gathered about his cock shank. She could feel the throbbing passion of his naked cock head pulsating against her tongue, its tip penetrating nearly to her palate.

She began running her tongue around the head of his cock in loving; laving circles. The boy redoubled his efforts on her clit and for the first time Clara was truly convinced that it is, really, more blessed to give than to receive. The boy's pelvis began rocking gently. It was, she suspected, an involuntary movement. She wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

She began moving her head in unison, lest he pull it out into the cold cruel world again-or drive it deeper than she could take. She tried to synchronize the movements of her head with his gentle thrusting, but the match was not perfect, and as his cock head moved up and, down, round and round in the warm wet confines of her mouth, she could feel it swell harder, feel the steady thump of his heartbeat accelerate until he must be pounding away almost as fast as the uncontrollable trip hammer thumping behind her splendid set of matched thirty-nines.

His hands drifted from her ass and began cupping the smooth perfection of that other pair of half globes. His finger began, lazily to twiddle her aureoles and nipples until their tiny pinkness was swollen to the firm hard pink of a pair of pie cherries. She had never realized before what a delicious turn-on could be achieved from such a simple manoeuvre. Meanwhile he was kissing her clit, licking her labia, driving a supple tongue deep, deep into her vagina.

She got her hands into his crotch and began memorizing the shape of his scrotum. Beneath the crinkly red curls she could feel the firm skin of a tight bag, feel the twin reservoirs of masculinity that squirmed within when they felt the touch of her gentle hand. The boy dived deeper into her pussy and redoubled his efforts at licking and kissing her one step beyond insanity.

His pelvis was rocking more violently now and her head was bobbing back and forth in time to his pushing as she struggled to keep her teeth locked loosely into that crumpled foreskin. to keep her tongue busy doing nice things to his throbbing knob.

It was funny. She had done this before -- years ago, before twelve years of Harry had soured her on just about every aspect of conjugality. Why had it never been so delightfully mind blowing before?

For that matter, why had none of the dozen or so men she had fucked in her uneventful life -- damn! Think of it: thirty-nine years old and out of all the billions of cocks in the world I've only sampled a dozen or so! What a waste! And reflecting back on it with all the calm she could muster with a mouthful of cock and a cuntful of mouth, Clara was inclined to believe that none of them had ever come close to the wonderful sustained turn-on this golden-skinned boy was giving her.

My God, she couldn't let him go now. If she were to know with absolute certainty that this lovely boy would never ever stick it into her again, Clara suddenly knew life would no longer be worth living. She would kill herself. What could she do to keep him with her, beside her, underneath her, on top of her, end-to-end or any goddamn way she had to do it if only she could keep him here in her house, in her bedroom, in her bed.

He wouldn't eat much. He'd need a few new clothes. She could teach him a little English -- enough to get by. But not too much ... She didn't want him trying his wings. But damn! She couldn't keep him locked up forever. She'd have to find a lawyer and see what could be done about getting him into this country legally. Where was he from? Maybe he could claim political asylum or call himself a refugee or ...

Maybe he could stop rocking his pelvis quite so enthusiastically. She was doing her mind blowing, neck breaking best to keep her mouth over the end of his cock but the boy was moving faster and faster, pushing harder, his hot cock throbbing faster in time with the beat of his accelerating heart.

It was nice, she realized with one tiny sane corner of her mind, to know that she could turn him on too. It was poetic justice of a sort for the way he had nearly sent her floating and shrieking up through the ceiling of that trailer out in the backyard. Not bad, she guessed, for a thirty-nine-year-old woman. But how long could she keep him happy? How long before he began straying, looking for somebody younger?

He was rocking harder, faster. His hot, throbbing cock was nearly coming out past her tight pursed lips now, driving back in past her jaws. She had given up trying to hold on with her teeth and was holding her jaws opened wide lest she hurt him. His cock was sliding in and out of her mouth with each stroke, pulling out so far she was afraid it would escape and come back blindly to stab her in the eye or nose -- and that would hurt this lovely boy much worse than it would her and she didn't want anything to happen that would slow the lovely rhythm of his licking, of his kissing, of the lovely sucking and puffing on her fibrillating clitoris.

Each time his cock came back in, it went farther, faster than she was prepared for. She was rocking her head back to take the worst of his thrust but he was pounding like a pile driver. She realized suddenly to her intense delight that the boy had lost control almost as much as he had made her go bananas a while ago. Not bad for an old woman, she preened herself.

But that cock was driving deep past her jaws, past her tongue, jamming against her soft palate until, no matter how nice it was, her body was rebelling. Involuntarily, she was starting to gag from this tremendous thumping piece of raw meat thrust past her mouth and into the beginning of her throat. She struggled to control herself, not to do anything that would spoil the boy's pleasure. She had given up on stopping short of explosion. After all the boy had done for her, she guessed she could let him fire one load where it pleased him. There would be other times.

Wouldn't there?

If there weren't Clara knew she was ready to die.

If she couldn't do something about this rampaging cock trying to choke her, she just might die anyway. But to die with that lovely boy's mouth over her clit was not a bad way to go.

He was ram slamming now, totally out of control .as he wham bammed his red-ringleted pelvis against her chin with all the eager abandon of six sailors on shore leave.

He was going to choke her to death if he didn't come soon. She marvelled. On those other rare occasions when she had blown some eager man, she had barely managed to get a lipstick mark on a thrumming foreskin before she had, hastily, to withdraw from a drenching fire hose-sized spurt of uncontrollable joy. And this boy had been pouring his cock to her tongue and lips for-for how long now?

It was useless to guess, she knew. She remembered the seemingly hours-long affair in the trailer this morning which, now that she thought about it and checked out times and so on, could not have lasted in its totality more than thirty thrashing minutes from her entry with tray and pistol to her exit with mussed hair, come smeared halter and brimful cunt. Had this boy been pouring his wonderful cock to her face for a minute or an hour?

She didn't know. She didn't care as long as he kept up that wonderful licking, kissing, suck puffing down there in the lovely spot where two legs became one ass. But damn! He was going to choke her to death if he drove it in any deeper. And she was going to gag, to puke or do something equally cock softening if she couldn't get a grip on herself -- get a grip on his wildly plunging ass before long. She risked a one-handed grip and captured his balls. They squirmed beneath her caressing touch and her warm soft hand drove the boy to new efforts. Damn! What was she going to do? Make him come as soon as possible, she guessed. She couldn't stop now -- not now that the boy was in full gallop. It would be cruel and unusual punishment -- and he would take his vengeance on her, she knew. She had to do something to keep him happy, keep him plunging, keep that lovely hot, throbbing cock in her mouth long enough for him to spill his load. Only then could she risk rearing back out of the way at the last moment, lest she get a faceful of semen.

She extended a finger from the land that cupped his squirming balls and began running it in a loving tickle up and down his perineum. The boy gave a sudden thumping thrust that almost caught her unprepared. "Aaaaaahhh!" he moaned.

The vibrant hum of his prolonged 'aaaahhh' drove her fibrillating clit into a new erotic frenzy. This, she suddenly realized, is what one of those electric vibrator things must feel like.

She continued running that loving finger up and down his perineum and as her fingertip titillated that tender strip of skin between anus and scrotum the boy suddenly emitted another heartfelt "Aaaaaahhhh!"

It was too much for Clara's tormented clit. She felt herself dissolving, flowing, knew she had finally done it; melted down into a tiny puddle of passion and her whole body would soak right down through the mattress and dribble onto the floor. But ooohhh, it felt so gooooood!

He was still licking her, kissing her, sucking her, valiantly swimming through the ocean of love's elixir that her tormented body had released in a scalding flood. His face came out of her crotch for an instant, and the rough fabric of the bedspread passed through her seething slit, and then he was back in there again licking, kissing, suck puffing, drawing the last tiny drop of joy from her erotic culmination.

And his ass was bobbing uncontrollably, driving his dong deep past lips and tongue, deep into her mouth until the hot throbbing head of his knob was pushing at her palate, threatening to go right down her throat. She was struggling not to gag. It was so good. It felt so nice to have him lick, her pussy, so nice to have his cock in her mouth. It restored her sense of self-esteem to know that, after the humiliating way he had made her come repeatedly in the trailer, she was now evening the score and giving him as great a turn-on as he had given her. But damn! If only she could keep her body from rebelling each time that great thumping lump of meat came slamming into her mouth and threatened to go right down her throat. ...

How, she wondered, had the star of that movie everybody talked about ...? There was even a new verb in the language, she realized. Clara caught herself wondering how long it would take her to learn how to love lace. But even more, she wondered if her licking and sucking, the frenetic bobbing of her head over his cock, her hair-by-hair count of the follicles on his scrotum, her tender loving tickles of his perineum -- how long could this incredible boy hold out under this multi-prolonged assault?

Once more he had made her come. And still she had not returned the favour. Suddenly she was overcome with self-doubt. Maybe she wasn't quite so appealing to his young eyes as she thought. Maybe she was just some old bag to be fucked until a young and better-looking girl came along.

But he was still licking and kissing her pussy. He still had his cock in her mouth. He was still rocking, pushing, wham bamming harder and faster than she ever remembered from that memorable morning session in the trailer. Could she ever make him come? Maybe she shouldn't even try. What if she were to pull back, spit out his cock and drag him around and make him stick it into her cunt? Would he enjoy that? Or would he be outraged -- perhaps so angry he would put on his Levis and stalk silently away into the night, never to return?

It was too great a risk. Clara knew she was afraid to try it. If this lovely boy were to leave her now, life quite literally would not be worth a fuck. Nor would she. She'd kill herself. She just knew she would.

But how long could she keep up this frantic bobbing before something gave? Her neck was starting to hurt. It still felt lovely to have all that hot thumping maleness in her mouth, to feel the sense of power it gave her over him but ... but would he ever stop that frantic pelvic rocking, that wham bam driving that was poking him deeper and deeper into her mouth, damn near down her throat?

Suddenly the boy gave another soul-felt "Aaaaahh!" He captured her ears and twin handsful of straight auburn hair. Then he transferred his grip to the back of her neck and suddenly he was not just pushing at the portals of her throat. Like it or not, Clara abruptly realized she was going to learn how Miss Lovelace managed to do the bit that had given that movie its title. This wonderful nameless boy was driving it deep past her palate, past her mouth and driving his fluttering phallus deep down her throat. She felt the crisp red curls of his pelvis grind against her lips.