Chapter 18
Clara swallowed. Nothing happened. She swallowed again, knowing it wasn't going to work, but unable to control her body's instinctive reaction to something big halfway down her throat.
It was crazy. Here she was, dying -- half choking to death and yet she was getting a turn-on like never before as Toivo played with clit and asshole, not missing a stroke in his steady driving up her pussy. She felt herself suddenly coming, her belly knotting and twisting, strands breaking as she burst into a sudden, soulsatisfying gush of joyous ejaculation, every organ in her reproductive train dripping with an abrupt seepage of love's elixir.
But an orgasm in her belly was not reducing the swelling in her throat. There was only one way she would ever get this great thumping hunk of masculinity out of her mouth, she knew, pinned down this way on the mattress. She had to reduce the swelling and make him pull it out.
She swallowed, but instead of going down, his cock began sliding back up out of her, past her palate, past her jaws until its throbbing tip was barely touching her lips. Then suddenly it was coming back in again. Just in time Clara remembered to breathe. She felt it sliding into her and noted something oddly familiar. Finally she realized that Att and Toivo were still working on a one-two waltz beat, only now Toivo was feeding her two firm full length leisurely lunges with his cock up her pussy to every one of Att's super slow, stop-action waltz beats down her throat.
It felt so good she wanted to giggle and scream, to wave her legs like a demented octopus, to pull him in deeper, harder, faster. She didn't have to do that to Att. He already had it down her throat so deep the crisp red ringlets of his pubic patch were pressing against her chin, squeezing her lips against her teeth every time that hot, throbbing hunk of masculinity poked past her palate and down her throat.
She thought she was getting the hang of it now. She had managed to take his full length without strangling. She was still swallowing madly each time that hot hard head o€ his hammer went down her throat, but the younger boy seemed to be enjoying it. Boy, was he ever enjoying it! His cock had swollen to its utmost, to an adamantine hardness that presaged the coming cataclysm. She could feel the racing beat of his heart transmitted by the hot young blood racing through his body, through his hammering hammer.
His beat was picking up, his thrusting was deeper, harder, faster as he built toward an inexorable conclusion to these kinky rites of passage. Toivo's beat was accelerating too, still holding a steady two-to-one with Att's firm phallic thrust down her throat. Then abruptly Clara's abused body rebelled, refused to take any more of this loving punishment. She retched, her throat tightening convulsively around the head of the younger boy's cock. The spasmodic contraction went deep through her body, clear down into the depths of her belly where Toivo's deep thrusting dipstick was also suddenly clasped in a death grip. He shuddered, Att shuddered.
"Aaaaahhhh!" the boys suddenly exploded in unison.
She felt the twin premonitory spurts and quivers as the boys froze, struggling to preserve their precious loads, and suddenly Clara was no longer retching. As her body clasped and contracted spasmodically around two superheated cocks she was suddenly and totally aware of the infusion of masculinity. Nausea forgotten, she felt her belly suddenly begin an uncontrollable fibrillation.
Then she felt great erotic rockets of passion shoot up her spine, ricochet off the inside of her skull and shoot around her brain in great bouncing billiards of joy. She was coming, coming from every orifice, explosively, melting, flowing, twisting, wailing and moaning her happiness as two boys simultaneously lost their erections inside her thrumming body. And then suddenly the bed, the bedroom, the whole world was spinning crazily and she was in a whirlpool and she was falling backwards and spinning and spinning and then she wasn't doing anything.
When Clara woke the two boys were still tangled up with her in a marvellous mass of arms and legs and cocks and hard male bodies. The bed was a mess. She was sticky, come smeared with gallons of goo. Some of it, she supposed, must be her own. But mostly it had come from the two boys. Even now after so many times Att was firing respectable jets of joyous jizz. And Toivo ...
It must have been the older boy's first time in months. Maybe his first time ever, she suddenly realized. The boy had come explosively inside her, liberally coating her cunt with semen, filling her until it dripped in a hot little stream down her ass and thigh. Even now, minutes or hours after the fact, it felt hot.
Clara thought a moment and realized she could not have been unconscious too long. She was come smeared and sticky, but it had not dried. The boys were groaning and starting to move. Slowly and carefully, they sorted out arms and legs. When each of the trio could find his own ass they trooped weakly and unsteadily toward the shower.
It was crowded, but even now, come-wrung and satiated as the boys were, she could sense that they wanted her, needed her in here with them. Sleepily, she soaped off Att's cock, then devoted her attentions to Toivo's. The older boy's bargepole was as thick and heavily veined as Att's, with a somewhat differently shaped head that came to a sharper point before flaring dramatically to a glans penis that had hooked into her willing flesh as securely as a harpoon. Like Att, he had never been circumcised. As she washed it, the boy's arms went around her and he drew her face into his hard belly with a sudden access of emotion. She felt his cock trying to rise already in her wet soapy hands.
To her intense surprise, Clara also got a rise out of her raddled belly as she felt this living lance respond to her soft hands. My God, she thought, won't I ever have enough? What more could the boys do to her? Could this pair of priapic prodigies have still more tricks in their bag? Att's bag ought to be pretty well emptied by now. How often had he? And then Clara was truly shocked. She had done all the coming. In the last twenty-four hours -- since he had first undressed her out in that trailer -- the younger boy had only come three times. How much more was he good for? And then there was always Toivo. This had been his first flight in months, perhaps years. Judging from the prodigious quantities of come he had injected into her pulsating pussy, it might be his first time ever.
If it had been crowded in the tub with just her and Att, it was more so with Toivo. The shower was one place where three was really a crowd. She was stretching, rubbing her firm thirty-nines across hard muscled male chest to reach her douche apparatus when the younger boy put an arm on her shoulder and shook his head. Before she quite understood he was down there again spreading her legs, putting his mouth to her cunt and jetting warm water up her pussy. When his head came out Toivo's came in. He shot a load of water into her, exited and Att's head came back. He fired his load, lingered a moment to run a loving tongue around her fresh washed clit and Clara felt a sudden little explosion of desire. Att pulled out and it was Toivo's turn. He jetted his water up her cunt, followed it with his tongue and suddenly all stations were go again.
My God, Clara thought, we can't go on like this! I'll wear the boys out. I'll wear myself out. We've got to get some rest. She could feel the water coming out clean now. There was no need for any more oral douching, no matter how lovely a turn-on those boys' tongues were. She captured Att by the ears and pulled him upright. "Hungry?" she asked.
The boy hesitated a moment, then nodded. They managed to dampen their ardor and finish bathing. Then she was standing atop the lid of the commode like some erotic statue and two boys were towelling her, wiping each millimeter of skin as carefully as if she were some millenia-old statue who might shatter with the slightest mistreatment.
I must be pretty healthy, Clara decided. She hadn't shattered yet. Finally the boys reluctantly finished with her and gave themselves hasty wipe downs. Clara considered putting on a peignoir but it was a warm night and the blinds were closed and -- and they didn't have any more secrets. She had always wanted to cook dinner in the nude like some garage calendar of her girlish days. But old Harry, poor old Harry, had been funny about, some things. Old Harry, sad to say, had been something of a pain in the ass. She hoped he was getting along better with this new woman.
Poking through the kitchen she was reminded that she had been intending to go to the supermarket to make up for the ravages caused by Att's stomach. But she hadn't. And it was late now and the nearest Seven-Eleven was miles away and she didn't feel like dressing, so ... so what the hell was she going to feed the boys?
Poking disconsolately through the cupboards, she found a package of pancake flour. Now what woman alone ever made pancakes? It had been here since the dear dead days before Harry's departure. She scrounged about and found.butter and syrup. She showed the boys the box which had a picture of pancakes on its side and made an inquiring noise. The boys, it appeared, were willing to accept quite literally anything she gave them to eat. But did they have to crowd around and rub their naked bodies against hers and play with her ass and fondle her tits while she was trying to make pancakes?
After mature consideration she decided there could only be one thing worse and that would be for them not to do it. She tried to ignore the slow steady turn-on their antics were giving her. If she didn't watch it this meal was going to disintegrate into an orgy on the floor right in front of the stove.
But it was the first time Clara had ever attempted to cook a meal for two hungry naked studs while she was not just nude, but totally barefoot and wet-haired naked herself. If housework were always this much fun she guessed she wouldn't complain. It sure beat putting up with all those willing little bungling girls in the office with their headaches and broken hearts and sudden unexplained absences and who the hell was minding the store?
Clara wondered how long she could get away with an unexplained absence herself. She could invent a dying relative, a funeral out of town, a reading of the will ... how long could she string it out?
On the other hand, how long could she string these boys along? How long before they were both exhausted, fucked out into lassitudinous dry bagged idiots who couldn't get it up no matter how she paraded her firmly upstanding thirty-nines before them. Damn that little Att! Every time she stood still long enough to lift a pancake off the griddle he would have his mouth or his finger right into her. And Toivo's cock was getting harder with each passing moment, digging into the hemispheres of her buttocks each time he came up behind her to clasp his hands over her firm, bra-less, all-American jugs.
Finally she elbowed them away long enough to transport a platter to the table. They sat down, and to Clara's surprise she too was hungry. She wondered suddenly if this-was fucking a handy way to lose weight? She didn't know. She suspected that even if she knew she were going to gain a pound each time that lovely shivery tremor passed through her belly she would not care to give it up. Fucking was here to stay, she decided, no matter what the sociologists dreamed up about the death of the family.
The boys consumed a prodigious quantity of pancakes and butter and syrup. Clara managed to put away three herself. Even while eating they couldn't keep their hands off her. Above the table or under it. She managed to finish and finally even the boys were, if not full, at least temporarily assuaged. They sat back in their chairs and looked at each other. Suddenly the silence was tense.
The boys' eyes were burning her body, memorizing the position of each pore and follicle. Suddenly she wondered if they were getting ready to leave. Oh shit! she thought. Then she guessed she might as well be philosophical about it. Already she had experienced more pleasure than she had ever dreamed possible. Did she really want more? You're damn right she did!
But if they were going, they were going. There was no use making a fool of herself and blubbering all over the place. She would be happy for the joy she had tasted. Why be greedy? Kiss them and send them on their way with a smile and happy memories.
Att was still studying the way her tiny nulliparous nipples sprouted from the pink aureoles on the tips of her firm thirty-nines. Finally he tore his gaze from her breasts and looked her in the face. "Hungry," he said.
Clara didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She looked at Toivo, remembering that he had only had it in her once, that Att was two up on the older boy. Would she hold out? What time was it? She glanced at the clock and it was only a few minutes after midnight. How about that?
She was thirty-nine. She thought a moment and realized that the boys' ages added together might not make as many years as she had passed on this prurient planet. But they were paying her the supreme compliment of looking at her body while their cocks grew bigger and harder. It was not something that could be pretended, Clara knew. This was not sociability. A hard-on was dead serious. And how long would it take for her to be dead if she kept on wasting herself in reducing the swelling on these two indefatigable male organs?
But it wasn't a waste. If she lived to be ninety she would remember this night, would nurture and cherish the memory. And if she didn't live to ninety-if this night killed her, she could not think of a lovelier way to go.
And speaking of going ...
Suddenly, without a word being spoken all three of them were on their feet again. This isn't happening, Clara told herself, and remembered how many times she had told herself that and each time she had been wrong. Each time it had not been just another of those deprived, depraved dreams that came from playing the nun for a year. Each time it had turned out to be true, with a real live flesh-and-blood, stiff cocked boy hovering over her, putting it into her, taking it out, putting it in again and again and ...
She sighed. They had rung every possible change. She was tired. She'd had it, despite all the happy fooling around while she fixed them pancakes. But maybe if they were to go to bed the boys' honorable intentions would drift off, the way boys often did, into sleep. And maybe she could sleep too.
What else could they do? She'd had it up her cunt. She'd had it in her mouth. She'd had it singly and together, two cocks at once. She'd had hard male hands on every square inch of her body. She'd been fucked and sucked, kissed and licked, tickled and tweaked. It had been fun and if the boys wanted to cuddle themselves to sleep she was willing to let them fondle the sharp and irresistible curves of her body. But she hoped they weren't counting on any great kicking wailing and screaming response. All she wanted was to sleep. She could feel Toivo's tool pressing against her ass as he followed her into the bedroom.