Chapter 16
I'm going to die! If I don't just fall right through the mattress and through the floor I'll kill myself! It was even worse than she had expected. If they had any feelings, any respect at all for her the boys would at least have preserved appearances. One of them should have diplomatically stayed out of sight until the other had finished. Give her time at least for a douche, maybe a quick shower before the next came sidling into her bedroom. She had thought the ultimate in horror, the most unthinkable thing she had ever been able to imagine would be one boy coming in one door to stick his thing in her while the other boy was going out the other door.
But this ... she was in bed on her side facing a boy. He was kissing her, had his cock in her pussy, his tongue in her mouth, his arms round her waist. And now Toivo had managed to sneak into the room-into her bed without her even knowing it. She felt his hard muscled arms encircle her from behind, felt his hands clasp over her tits and suddenly -- it was better.
At least she knew now. At least there was no more uncertainty or wondering. He wasn't sneaking around peeping through keyholes. He was right here. She couldn't do anything about it now. She might as well accept it, live with it, try to learn how to enjoy it. What could he do, apart from fondle whatever part of her the younger boy didn't happen to be handling at the moment?
She guessed she might as well get used to seeing him as a substitute player -- a reserve of some sort. This, she supposed, was his warm-up.
As he snuggled closer she felt herself sandwiched between two hard young bodies. Momentarily -- fatuously, she realized -- she wondered if Toivo was properly suited up for this sport. As he snuggled closer she felt the firm muscles of his chest and belly against her back. Then as his cock began thumping against her ass Clara's last doubt was removed. Toivo was ready to take over the instant Att faltered.
Att did. Without warning he pulled his prodigious prod out of her with an audible 'thuck' like a champagne cork. Abruptly he was gone. Before Clara quite realized what was happening Toivo had turned her over on her back in missionary position again and was pushing his prod into the space recently vacated by his friend.
This isn't really happening, Clara told herself. It's just one of those awful dreams I've been having ever since old Harry bugged out. Soon I'll wake up with a mess between my legs and a headache and it'll be Monday and my hair will be a mess and I'll have to use up three cans of spray and the girls in the office will be giving each other those looks all day and -- oh shit!
Slowly, as she felt the weight of the older boy atop her, felt his first enthusiastic full-depth plunge as his cock made easy going down a trail broken by his younger companion -- slowly Clara decided it was for real. No dream could be this sustainedly dismal. And the crazy thing about it was, suddenly she was turfing on-now that she knew where the other boy was -- now that the worst had happened, her body was asserting some older, prelogical wisdom and living for the moment.
And now that she thought about it that way, what was wrong with the moment? Toivo was a year or two older than Att, with the wispy beginnings of a moustache. His body was slightly more mature, his muscles more corded and rocklike. He was an inch or two taller, and to her sudden delight she realized his cock, now bottoming out on that first joyous plunge, had gone into her at least an inch deeper than the first boy's. She wondered if he would have the same phenomenal staying power.
He was in so deep that, even with Att's careful preparation, she could feel Toivo's tool pushing deep, deep into her, stretching her vagina to its utter limits, poking at the portals of her womb as the boy bottomed out, held for a teeth clenching, cliffhanging moment while his cock fluttered 'and thrilled, teetering on the edge of orgasm. The boy's whole body was rigid, like a bull which has just sensed la estoca slipping past its shoulder blade and the first imitations of mortality.
They held together, clenched in a moment of frozen ecstasy as the boy's body struggled to survive, struggled not to fire its precious load prematurely.
Finally Clara felt the first tiny hint of relaxation and an instant later the crisis had passed. Toivo would manage one more stroke at least -- one more soul stirring plunge into her tunnel of love before he lost control and love's elixir came gushing forth in great blurting, spurting, hurting jets of joy undeferred.
They held together, not knowing, for another minute and as her mind and body rested from the incessant erotic assault Clara found time to wonder what had happened to her first lover. He hadn't come. He had pulled out of her with his cock still in full fighting trim. Now how many boys of his age would break off in the midst of the rites of love?
Toivo gave a long, heartfelt sigh of relief as his spasm passed. He risked moving, cautiously pulling his rod halfway out of her. When the joy was not unbearable in its intensity he pulled out the rest of the way until his cock was barely in her, its joyously throbbing and thumping head giving a happy little tingle to the parted lips of her vulva.
Having accepted the worst, Clara guessed she might as well be happy. Another inch was bound to be a new experience. She wondered if it would be possible for her to scale the dizzying slopes of Passion Peak with Toivo -- if with his extra inch he would be able to do anything the younger boy had not been able to do.
I'm getting tired, she realized. This morning I'd've melted at the thought of a hard young boy getting into me. And now I've had two of them and it's nice -- nobody will ever be able to say a bad word about fucking-but it's not mind blowing nice. Just comfortable. Somewhere with the back of her mind she heard water start running in the shower.
So that was where the younger boy with the still unreduced local swelling was-pouring water over it. Why had he pulled out so suddenly? Had it been politeness -- knowing his friend had gone without far longer than the few hours since Att had last had it in her? Greater love hath no man, she guessed.
Toivo, after his first spasm and near disaster, was settling down and doing a creditable job of poking. She relaxed -- what was the use getting all uptight about it? She had been fucked by one boy. Now she was getting fucked by the other. Or, to put it another way, she had used one boy and was now using the other. It depended on which way the chauvin ismed.
It made no difference at all to her pussy, she realized. That happy little passion pocket was wrapping itself around Toivo's super length prod with a sudden joyous enthusiasm just as if she hadn't been screwed to within an inch of her sanity only hours ago. She lay back with mild surprise, knees flexed, thighs wide apart to accommodate the lusty, lunging male above her.
The waltz, she guessed, had made its way from the Danube to the Baltic, for the older boy was also giving her that old one-two rhythm: a deep thrust, two short quick jabs, and then another full deep one that sounded the depths of her being, stretched her vagina to its thrumming utmost, and was slowly but surely sending her climbing up the by now familiar trail toward the summit peak.
It felt good. It felt so good that before she could stop herself she felt her insides do a lovely little flip-flop. Her smooth cunt muscles contracted spasmodically, squeezing and milking at Toivo's tool. He gasped, gritted his teeth, and for a moment stopped the steady waltz beat of his one-two feints and plunges.
And Clara's happy little orgasm went on and on -- low keyed but mellow. It was as if finally all the slowly built-up tensions and unresolved strains from these marathon fuck fests were finally fusing, melting and flowing out of her. My God, she thought, if I keep on just coming and flowing and coming and flowing this way I'll be so sloppy -- so loose that even Toivo won't want me.
But the older boy was still on the first lap of his orgiastic marathon and if he was unhappy with crotch conditions he gave no sign. He seemed happier, if anything. Clara guessed the boy had done without so long that he was hairtriggered and grateful for anything that would lessen the erotic impact of firm female flesh surrounding the hot throbbing tip of his tool.
If he was happy she was happy. It was nice, she decided, to surrender and not worry and just let things happen -- as long as they were nice things like the extra inch that was plowing erotic furrows across the dark fields of Venus. To hell with wondering about tomorrow, about what the neighbours would think! To hell with making silly plans about marriage or adoption or whatever! She was going to lie back and close her mind to everything except the wonderful smooth feel of flesh -- hot hard male flesh sliding in and out of her cunt.
It felt so good -- even better, now that she had been thoroughly and completely fucked for the first time in her life. She realized suddenly that in her thirty-nine years she had never felt this way before. This, she finally understood, was gourmet fucking. Always before, even at the best periods in her life, she had been half starved, and people on a subsistence diet do not pick and choose. They devour anything that comes along, not stopping to taste or chew. She was -- had been in the same fix, so desperate for fulfillment that whenever a cock had gone into her she had ached and strained, struggling to come as many times as possible before that cock's owner expired in embarrassment and ejaculation -- unable to control his load when -confronted with the sight and feel of her firmly onward and upward pointing thirty-nines.
Now Clara didn't care whether she came or not. She had had so many orgasms in the last few hours -- great gut wrenching cataclysms, happy little shivers -- every possible change had been rung on the chimes of her passion-hungry body. And now that she was fucked out, satiated, didn't really care whether she ever came or not, she could lie back, relax, do nothing at all but just close her eyes and savor the dessert -- the fine firm feel of yet another boy, harder muscled, longer cocked, giving her his youthful all. She didn't care if Toivo took all night. She could take it. Oh my, could she ever take it! Toivo, she decided, with his boyish eagerness and his fine hard body was gourmet fucking at its finest.
But what had ever happened to the meat and potatoes? She remembered how abruptly Att had pulled out the meat -- how suddenly those two potatoes were no longer swinging happily, banging her ass with each stroke like the clappers of some great erotic gong. To hell with him. She closed her mind, determined to savor to its fullest the fine firm pushing that Toivo was giving her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she sensed, through a glass darkly, that the water in the shower was no longer running.
Stop worrying, she told herself. No matter where he is or what he's doing, it doesn't make a bit of difference. There were no more secrets. To hell with it! Let's fuck! No more pretty words or fancy euphemisms. When a woman had her belly wrapped around a man's erection, that was not coition or copulation. It was not intercourse or making love -- what did love have to do with it? It was not coupling nor was it performing a sex act -- who the hell was acting? This was for real! And the only real word for it in the only language Clara felt at home in was: FUCKING!
It was an honourable word of ancient and noble lineage, one of the oldest words in the English language, possibly because people have been fucking together longer than they have been programming computers or going to the moon. It was a word of indestructible vitality, having survived centuries of Christian persecution, even in its more virulent forms of Protestantism and Victorianism. Despite having been denied its rightful place in the dictionaries, the word continued undiminished. Could any bluenosed censor actually pretend, even to himself, that despite all these efforts at excision from the language- quite simply, was there anywhere in the world one single English speaker above the age of four who did not know exactly what fuck meant?
The word was here to stay. So was the deed. And Toivo was doing the deed -- fucking nobly -- driving his dick deep, deeper, deepest into her delectable duff, doing his Finnish finest not to finish before her fine furburger had its full of his Finnish phallus.
It was lovely. It could go on forever. It had already, she realized, been going on for a very respectable interval. Had the boy been feeding her that old one-two rhythm for five minutes or fifty? She didn't know. She didn't care. She was in no frantic rush to scale Mount Orgasm. She would take his tool as long as the boy could or would give it. And when he was finished she would kiss him and drift off into happy dreamless sleep.
She knew that for once she would not dream, not those horrible gut wrenching dreams that always left her feeling empty anyway, not those dreams where she awoke sweaty and sheet-entangled, cunt dripping, and the fine firm feel of a phallus inside her gone with the insubstantiality of fairy gold. For once she would go to bed happy, satiated, to dream of nothing, or to dream of whatever it is happy people dream of. My God, she suddenly realized, this is the first time in my life that I've ever been happy!
Toivo was happy too. She could sense the firmness of his cock, teetering on the tender edge of disaster as the boy paced himself, still feeding her his steady one-two in the same erotic waltz beat that the younger boy had used this morning to drive her up the walls of her trailer and make her float right up off this bed. My, what a lovely pair of boys! She wondered if there were possibly some way she could keep both of them. What was their legal status? If they were tourists or some such they wouldn't be risking arrest by camping out in her trailer. They had to be on the run from something. Had they jumped ship?
She reminded herself that she was not going to think about things like this. She was going to relax and enjoy Toivo, savor him to his inch-longer fullest. If Att felt like pulling out and heading for the showers halfway through the game, that was his loss. She had a spare cock.
Then, she felt another hard muscled male body slide into bed beside her, Clara abruptly remembered that she had two.