Chapter 17
In a way it seemed a dreadful waste, Clara decided. Here the world was full of worthy and deserving women who didn't even have one cock -- and she had two! Verily, it was feast or famine. But, she decided as she felt that magnificent hard body slide in beside her, at least it could be worse. She could have none at all.
But what was going to happen now? Were they going to make a relay race out of it -- each boy do a lap and pass on the flaming torch without firing his load? Good God, she thought. Taking time out to eat and sleep in between, they could turn it into a marathon! She wondered what it would be like to lie here for days, maybe even weeks, being slowly, steadily, constantly fucked by two indefatigable studs.
Her worst fears were realized when she felt Toivo begin to shift position. He grabbed her ass to keep from breaking the vital connection as he reared back from his missionary position atop her. After some complicated footwork they were still plugged in, more or less in the same rock-and-roll position she and the younger boy had enjoyed in the tub when he had pumped her full unto bursting with hot water. But this time they were farther apart, his legs beside her, one under a thigh and the other over as they lay head to foot, half crossways and still plugged in. Toivo gave a couple of experimental shoves and then he was pushing steadily away -- no longer giving her the old one-two waltz rhythm. Now he had changed to a steady no-nonsense in and out, in and out, pouring his magnificent muffin-stabber deep into a suddenly tightened pussy. Now that she was no longer split wide open to accommodate his muscular waist between her thighs nature had taken its course. Toivo gasped and strained, struggling to contain himself against this suddenly heightened and intensified pleasure surrounding his throbbing prick.
She could feel its sudden swelling to rock hardness as the head of his hammer throbbed and thumped deep inside her. For an instant she thought he was going to be out of the race, would have to surrender his position to the younger boy. But he gritted his teeth and clenched the cheeks of his ass and finally after a long tense moment Toivo was once more pouring his cock to her with long deep strokes, giving her slightly more of a tum-on in her newly tightened position than Clara really wanted. If he kept this up very long she would find herself in the middle of one of those leg-waving, wailing-and-shrieking orgasms again, and she really didn't want that -- did she?
Now what on earth was the other boy doing? He was swarming over her like seven sailors on Cinderella liberty, fondling her thirty-nines, swapping tongues, managing somehow to rub his hard, golden-skinned body against every square inch of her that was not being penetrated or otherwise carnally used by Toivo and his fine Finnish phallus.
Whatever happened to the long leisurely turn-on of a moment ago? Suddenly Clara realized she still had things to learn about the amatory arts. And imagine a woman of her age having to learn them from two boys! Att had showered and freshened up but as he approached her obliquely, missionary position and half on top of her but of necessity coming from the opposite direction so as not to interfere with Toivo, who had taken possession of her legs, her ass, her suddenly aroused pussy -- Att was coming at her from above. She felt the warmth radiating from the flat hardness of his belly as he oozed down to lick and kiss her firm thirty-nines, to suck her tiny nulliparous nipples into throbbing erection as he darted rapidly back and forth from one thrumming pink aureole to the other.
Clara felt the gathering storm inside her and knew with a mixture of relief and sadness that the fine, calm, augustan fucking of a few moments ago had been just one more illusion. She had still not experienced everything. Would there be enough time in one life to learn everything possible about the amatory -- there she went with those funny words again. Amatory arts indeed! She was talking about fucking -- the strong silent kind Toivo was feeding her, pulling out almost all the way, then slowly but surely sliding back together, his thighs intertwined with hers and her legs, her ass, her whole lower body suddenly joined in a contact several times closer and more intimate than missionary position.
It was funny. She was thirty-nine. She should be teaching these boys. She considered herself an educated woman, wise in the ways of the world. Yet, she had learned more in the last twelve hours than she had in the previous thirty-nine years. She had always thought fucking was something that involved a man sticking it into a woman and struggling to keep it in for a few minutes. She had permitted an occasional furtive blow job as a variation on the theme. How could she have known all the wonderful positions, the variations and kinks she had been missing out on all these years?
There ought to be a school, she suddenly realized. Fucking was too important, too delicate and complex an art to be learned from amateur bunglers.
But her thoughts wandered from what ought to be back to what was: one boy pouring it to her, his hands on her ass and on her belly, caressing her thighs, squeezing, tickling, rubbing every square inch he could reach. From the waist down Clara felt as if she were being felt up by seven horny little men. Had Snow White ever experienced a night like this?
Meanwhile back at the ranch, Att was swarming over her from the waist up, kissing her tits, licking her nipples and aureoles, caressing her flanks, retreating occasionally to swap tongues with her for a long heart stopping minute while his hands never stopped their roving inventory of her thrumming body, caressing, feeling, tickling and memorizing as busily as Toivo's cock was doing its utmost to churn her insides into a passionate pudding of desire.
Toivo's busy hands were everywhere his cock was not, running a loving fingertip around the marble-hard protuberance of her clit, tickling her perineum, tapping her twittery asshole until she didn't know whether to giggle or scream with hysterical delight.
And only a few moments ago she had thought she was satiated -- fucked-out and ready to relax and play a passive role, be a good fellow while the boys had their fun. Jesus! How little she knew the body she had been living in for the last thirty-nine years! Now what was Att up to?
The younger boy, trailbreaker for this titillating team, was moving farther down, kissing and licking the undersides of her firm thirty-nines. Then he was nuzzling her midriff, caressing her flanks with a tenderness that was perilously close to a tickle. He progressed down her body in lascivious peregrination until he was kissing the gentle swell of her belly, augering his tongue into her navel. Now how had she managed to live all these years without ever finding out what a man's tongue felt like in there? Oooohhh, she suddenly learned. It felt much nicer than she had expected. She was learning new things all the time.
She felt that old feeling rise in her belly, assaulted by Att's tongue from the outside and Toivo's cock from the inside. How could there be so much erotic delight in one frail body? She had never guessed the depth, the height of joys available within herself. She was going to come again. She knew it. Not just another happy little tremor, shiver and tickle like she had been having with first Att's, then Toivo's thrusting cock. She was building up for another big one. And then, belatedly, she finally understood what Att was up to.
She should have known, she guessed. After all, it was fairly obvious that, with Clara on her back and Att approaching her from the top, if his face traveled past hers, across her tits and midriff until he was almost nuzzling her pussy -- stopped short only by Toivo's cock already in there -- where was the younger boy's prodigious prod liable to end up? So now she knew why he had taken the trouble to go shower and freshen up after he had pulled it out of her so suddenly.
Toivo was out of reach. She could feel his cock in her, his ass banging against hers, but only his feet were within reach. Att filled the gap, hovering over her where she could feel his tongue licking her navel, fell his hands memorizing the contours of her firm, skyward pointing jugs, and feel the hardmuscled maleness of his belly directly above her. Then as he scooted another few inches downward she was confronted with the essence of masculinity as his freshly washed, heavy-veined, permanent-press cock pointed downward toward her face like an accusing finger.
It was not too difficult for Clara to figure out what was expected of her. I should have known it, she realized. After all, she had heard stories about orgies. She had grown up in an era when dirty stories were whispered in the parlor and in the kitchen. During the last twenty years she had seen the dirty joke achieve full emancipation and acceptance in mixed company. But she had never gotten over a childish belief that they were just that -- dirty jokes. Until this minute when Clara found herself stretched out on her own bed that same bed where she had spent a year's worth of empty, solitary nights -- until now she was plugged in, with a young man's superbly endless cock driven deep into her, pounding steadily at the portals of her womb-even then she had not really believed until now the possibility of still another cock pointed at her like Uncle Sam's finger in the I WANT YOU poster.
It was unbelievable. It was ridiculous. Suddenly she had to struggle not to erupt in endless shrieking hysterical laughter. Of all the crazy situations! Never, not in her most secret thoughts, not even in the warped, prelogical world of her dreams had she ever imagined herself with one cock up her cant and another in her mouth -- down her throat.
She was suddenly overcome with an -attack of prudery. Of all the times to go respectable, she thought. It was crazy. This was no time to go having second thoughts. She knew now that, from the moment she had walked out to that trailer with a pistol-with halter and shorts -- everything had been slowly building toward something like this. She had nobody to blame but herself. She could have sent the first boy flying down the alley. She could have shot him. She could have called the police. Instead, she had played with fire. She had gotten burned. Now she was going to get incinerated.
She had to open her mouth and accept Att's offering. No matter that Toivo could see everything. Toivo would be more interested in his own problems down there in cunt country. Toivo would be concerned with the smooth sensual feel of flesh on flesh, in flesh, sliding in and out, in and out. He would not be interested in what Att was doing -- she hoped.
Clara struggled to open her mouth, to accept the offering that dangled above her, waving gently back and forth in time to the younger boy's steady heartbeat. She could see it perfectly, make out every heavy vein on shank and foreskin. She could see the purple tip of his knob peeping angrily from inside the tight stretched prepuce, waiting for her lips, her teeth and tongue to liberate it from its dermal prison.
She was paralyzed. What, she wondered, was wrong with her? But she knew. Two's company, three's a crowd. My God, are they ever crowding over me, feeling me, caressing, squeezing, pulling, poking, kissing, licking ...
Did Snow White feel like this in that coffin in the forest waiting for a lover to come along and kiss her back into life? But Clara was already being kissed and licked, caressed, fucked and sucked past the point of no return. Why couldn't she respond to this boy's simple need? Why was she suddenly coming on like a reluctant virgin?
She had to do something soon or Att would be annoyed. And annoyed, this independent boy might withdraw from the game, taking his marvellous permanent press cock with him. She had to do something quick. Why couldn't she open her mouth, take that lovely lance through her lips, close lips and teeth oh-so-gently and force that tight-stretched prepuce back down around the shank to unveil his tremendous, purple throbbing glans penis in all its male glory? All she had to do was open her mouth, let it in, wrap lips and tongue around it and do her homely bit toward spreading a little kindness. The boy would do the rest.
Already he was augering his tongue unbelievably into her navel, caressing her flanks, her tits, twiddling her nipples into rock hardness while Toivo's cock performed in yeoman fashion, aided by his knowledgeable hands titillating her clit, tickling her anus, doing everything humanly possible to send her floating off on a cloud of pink frothed passion. So why couldn't she open her mouth?
Att's hands were on her jugs, memorizing their firm contours, tweaking her nipples until she wanted to giggle and shriek and kick her legs and ...
Suddenly his hands left her tits, progressed down midriff and spread to her ticklish flanks. Suddenly ten fingers were digging in brutally; counting ribs, she remembered they used to call it when she was a little girl.
She gave an involuntary yelp and giggle. It was her last. Att's tremendous, hard throbbing round headed cock went smoothly into her mouth, filling it as neatly as a stopper going into a bottle, and abruptly she was too busy with other things to worry about the fingers in her ribs.
Just as abruptly, the boy stopped tickling her and Clara understood then that he had done it on purpose, just to make her open her mouth. Damn him! That boy couldn't be less than twenty years younger than she was. What business did he have knowing all those tricks, always being two jumps ahead of her? It was humiliating.
But, she had to admit as she felt Toivo's lengthy lance sliding steadily in and out, as she felt her mouth suddenly filled with more rampant masculinity -- it was also fun.
She pursed her lips, closed her jaws with micrometer carefulness until her teeth were imperceptibly digging into the tight-stretched foreskin that surrounded the hot throbbing knob of Att's principal attraction. Immediately his prepuce surrendered, slid smoothly back in accordion folds and bunched round the shank of his heavy-veined hammer. She felt the sudden throb and swell as the boy reacted to the warm wet femininity surrounding him.
One more sensation until she felt as if some priapic god was piling erotic thrill atop lascivious lick atop prurient passion with a pitchfork. She felt herself slipping, inundated beneath the sheer richness of sensation as thrill after joyous, throbbing thrill coursed through her pulsating body. And she had been tired!
She wrapped her lips lovingly around Att's lance, laved its blunt head with her tongue, did her humble best to make his thumping invader feel at home in her oral regions. Then as the younger boy began slowly but steadily thrusting, she realized exactly where she was: flat on her back, the back of her head planted solidly on the mattress. There was no retreat from the mountain of maleness that was pushing ever closer to her face, ever deeper down her throat.
She remembered that movie everybody talked about but she had never seen. If Miss Lovelace could do it, Clara determined that she could. All it took was an ability to relax. She might as well relax. What else could happen after this? She struggled not to struggle. She managed to get a good deep breath, then concentrated on not tightening up. She tried to think pure thoughts, to relax, to pretend this was just a large piece of unchewed meat that she had to swallow.
It didn't work. This was live meat. She might swallow all right, but it was only going to go so far down and then it would start coming right back out but even then it would not come out in violent ejection. Att's splendidly hard headed cock was going to slide into her mouth, past her tongue, past her palate and down her throat right to the point where she could just get to swallowing.