Chapter 19
God, what a hot pair of studs! Att was beside her, crowding awkwardly through the doorway, unwilling to take his hands off her jugs even for a second. It was nice to be desired, Clara decided. Really lovely at thirty-nine to be able to coax all that phallic swelling out of two boys whose ages added together probably were still less than hers. But didn't they ever get tired?
She was. She could hardly keep her eyes open. She was sleepy, relaxed and languorous, fucked-out and totally passive. She didn't care what happened as long as they were reasonably quiet about it. She wondered if it was possible for her actually to fall asleep while a cock as thick as Att's, as elegantly long and flare headed as Toivo's, was stirring away at her pussy, doing its gallant and masculine best to churn her innards into a passionate pudding. Could she ever become that blase to the charms of eroticism?
Oh no! Suddenly she was so tired, so wrung-out, so cross with herself and the world that she felt like crying. She had been counting on being able to stretch out full length on the bed and relax, let the boys do whatever they wanted to over and around her. Let them kiss her, let them lick her, let them fondle and rub and poke and prod and let them drive their cocks as deep into her delectable pussy as they wanted. But for Christ's sake, let her rest for a moment!
Instead, the youngest boy sprang ahead of her and lay supine in the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling. Toivo was pressing and prodding her up onto the bed. They wanted her to get on top, spindle herself on Att's rigid spike. The boy wanted to lie there and relax while she did all the work!
It wasn't fair! Not after all she'd been through. She didn't mind the boys getting their jollies by fondling her, kissing her, licking her, fucking her -- whatever it took to keep them happy. But she was tired, wrung-out and exhausted. She didn't want to climb on top of that tireless-tooled little bastard and spend four hours bouncing up and down around his cock. She wouldn't do it. No way!
Besides, what would Toivo do in the meantime? He was a lovely boy and he had still only gotten it into her once. Att was trying for his fourth forking within' less than twenty-four hours. Why couldn't he give somebody else a chance? She would lie down in the middle of the bed, push Att over to one side so a boy could lie on each side of her. That was the comfortable, the civilized way.
But when it came to fucking, these boys didn't seem to know what civilization meant. Abruptly she felt Toivo behind her compounding the felony. Instead of being all bent out of shape because he was being left out, the older boy was pushing and prodding her, urging her atop the first boy. What did they think she was -- some kind of machine?
She sighed, knowing perfectly well what they thought she was. Like young people everywhere, it never occurred to them that somebody else might be older, tireder, might need a little rest. They assumed as a matter of course that any woman with a firm fleshed body who had fucked as frantically as she had a short while ago--that woman had to be as full of vitality and as hot to trot as they were. She tried not to grumble and act like some crone of a grandmother as Att pulled and Toivo pushed until she was squatting astraddle the younger boy who lay face up, smiling seraphically as she settled slowly, tiredly, resignedly over the great thumping phallus that rose like some fleshy flagpole from the red ringlets of his crotch.
It was hard work to thread the needle this way. The boy beneath her had done it much better, she realized. She felt her thighs quiver with fatigue as she struggled to lower herself gently, to find the great throbbing knob on the end of his prick with her gaping pussy. With her thighs stretched wide to straddle him she felt split wide open. And, she supposed, she was. She could feel a breath of cool air through the damp openness of her gash. And then, just as she was about to collapse in sobbing fatigue she felt something else: the hot thumping hardness of his hammer sliding smoothly through her wide open vulva, up the smooth slickness of her vagina. She gave a sigh of relief and let herself go the rest of the way.
She came down harder and faster than she had expected and Att's lovely lance drove far deeper than usual into her, giving her an unexpected little thrill. So now what was she supposed to do? Exhaust herself playing jack-in-the-box as she slid up and down this greased pole? If only she were rested. Fresh after a night's sleep Clara knew she would find this very pleasant work indeed.
Even now, tired and cranky as she was feeling, she could not help admit that she was getting a very nice little turn-on from the feel of that great lump of masculinity throbbing away deep inside her, stretching her, pushing gently at the portals of her womb. She tried to rise a little bit. Soon she made it. She began bouncing gently, lifting her ass half a cock length off his hard body, letting it fall back down with a soul-satisfying thump that drove him deep into her.
She was beginning to like it in spite of her tiredness. Damn! she thought, I'll never learn.
Toivo was getting into the act, though she couldn't guess what he was trying to do. He was scooting up between Att's legs behind her, getting his thighs in between them. Suddenly she was bouncing higher.
Well how about that? If she could just keep from getting bucked off it promised to be a nice little canter. Somehow Toivo's knees and thighs were cradling her ass, tossing her joyfully skyward until she nearly came off the end of Att's bargepole -- but not quite.
Each time she came sliding down that maypole, Toivo's knees had miraculously spread, leaving her to settle with a soul-satisfying thuck atop Att's hard muscled pelvis. His rock hard erection was driving deep into her, filling her pussy, stretching her, turning her on in spite of her exhaustion. She struggled to remain passive. She didn't want to get involved in another fuck fest. She was tired. She couldn't do it justice. If ooh- they would let her sleep for half an hour. ...
She was bouncing -- being tossed up and down. It reminded her of childhood days when she had bounced up and down on somebody's knee -- except that in those days she had not been spindled on a hot throbbing cock. She was enjoying it, but she was so tired, so sleepy. She struggled to keep her balance as Toivo's knees kept her ass flying up and down his friend's greased pole. It felt so good. It was such a waste that she couldn't ... then she felt herself falling. She was falling asleep.
When she awoke Clara had no idea whether minutes or hours had passed but the headachy tired feeling of too much love was gone. She was alive-ready for anything. Slowly, she climbed up out of a well of oblivion, wondering if the boys had given up and abandoned her. Was she alone? She was on her side and it felt as if she had had another of those awful dreams and ended up jammed against the wall. She stirred and abruptly discovered that the wall was human flesh: hard muscled male flesh. She was on her side and a boy -- Att, she supposed, was still between her legs, his half flaccid cock still inside her.
What a lovely way to wake up, she decided. It was so different from the sweaty, cramped emptiness that came after those confusing erotic dreams that had punctuated her empty year. She took a deep breath and felt her abdominal muscles pull at her vagina, put a gentle squeeze to the head of that half flaccid cock.
Abruptly Att was wide awake. "Aaaaaahhh!" he sighed, "Deezneelen!" As his cock began swelling and once more filling the void in her belly Clara knew this was indeed the magic kingdom.
He began thrusting and Clara's last vestige of sleepiness disappeared. Oh what a lovely cock! They lay on their sides, his hard muscled ass between her legs, and he was thrusting away. He grabbed her by the rounded contours of her lovely ass and then she was once more atop him. But this time she was alive, awake, hot to trot. She began bouncing joyously up and down his rejuvenated rod. Already she could feel her belly starting to knot up as tension built in that old familiar feeling. She was climbing the mountain, approaching the slide. Soon she would be fluttering and muttering, buttering his baton with the first fruits of love fulfilled. It was such a lovely feeling. He was such a lovely boy.
She wondered how long this freshness would last. Was she really caught up and ready for another full length session? Or would she soon be tired again? Who could ever tire of this lovely exercise? She squatted atop the supine boy, her magnificent body vertical and far enough away for his eyes to focus on her treasures. Att's eyes glistened as he inventoried the smooth perfection of her firm, never-needed-a-bra thirty-nines, the smooth midriff that tapered down to a surprisingly tiny waist before swelling once more into the gentle roundness of a belly unsullied by wrinkles or stretch marks. She remembered the feel of his tongue in her navel, licking and tickling its way down the soft smooth expanse of belly to the auburn-ring letted rise of her pubic mound.
His permanent-press prick was parting the pouting lips of her vulva, stationary while her smooth thighs and knees flexed to send her bouncing sensuously up and down just the right distance to extract the final firm measure of prurient pleasure from this joyous junction of two willing bodies.
Poised vertically above his supine body like some erotic oriental goddess, she could admire the smooth hard perfection of his just-maturing masculinity. The red haired, golden-skinned boy was really something else -- the stuff that dreams and center folds are made of. And she was on top of him, had his lovely, hot, hard cock inside her, and she was in full control now, playing the aggressive role while the boy remained passive. For the first time since this marathon fuck fest had begun, Clara was in charge, moving up and down his lovely banana as fast or slow as she wanted, gauging the length and depths of stroke to her own needs. It was lovely. This, she decided, was truly women's lib. It beat the hell out of marching and getting arrested.
She felt the rising storm in her belly and knew that soon she was going to come. Let it happen She was going to ride with the tide and not fight anything any more. If her body wanted to fire off rockets of erotic joy, let it. She remembered seeing a bumper sticker somewhere: Sex relieves TENSION. Most of civilization's really valuable knowledge, she guessed, was actually passed along on bumpers or blank walls. Soon she was going to unwind and relax in the loveliest possible way. There was massage, there were hot baths, there were weekends on the beach or in the mountains. Which of them could even begin to compare with fucking?
She was sliding up and down his happy hammer while Att smiled and admired her body and caressed her ass and occasionally managed to crowd a fingertip into the opening and closing gap between them so that her rock hard little clit came down squarely onto it for an added thrill. He stretched and tired to capture her jiggling jugs but couldn't quite make it. Clara wondered if now she was wearing that same serene half smile the boy had worn yesterday morning when he had silently undressed her, stretched her out, and put his cock into her. Her smile changed briefly to a grin as she remembered Mark Twain's remark about the "calm confidence of a Christian with four aces."
She might not have four aces but she had a living breathing boy with a living throbbing and thumping cock stuffed into her. And she had him cornered between her and the mattress. Not that he seemed even remotely inclined to try to escape the tender trap that surrounded his firm fleshed phallus. Att was smiling his hard-on in some unexpected cataclysm. Reflecting on this marvellous boy's track record, Clara realized they could spend hours at this happy jack-in-the-box exercise as she straddled him, bouncing joyously up and down his dick, in complete control for a change. Aaaaahhhh, it was lovely to be alive, to be free, to be fucking a lovely boy!
Then a sudden thought came to invade this paradise. Where was Toivo? When she had dropped off to sleep she had been cradled in his lap in some kinky arrangement where he was providing the motive power for her long slide up and down this boy's bargepole. Had he despaired and gone off to sleep in a less crowded bed -- out in the trailer, perhaps? More probably, she decided, he would be flaked out on the sofa in the next room. Asleep? She hoped so. Two boys were nice but two plus one equals three, which is a crowd. It was lovely to be here all alone, devoting her full attention to Att's glistening body, to savor the fine firm phallus that was sliding steadily in and out, in and out as she rose and fell above his supine superb body.
And when Att had fired his load there would be time enough to rouse his replacement. Let Toivo get his rest. If he was still here ... Now don't start that, she told herself. Here or not, you've got one boy and so far he's been more than enough. Ooooohhhh, is he ever enough!
She wondered if Att's prodigious prod was swelling still larger or if in her rising excitement she was tightening up and shrinking. She seemed suddenly fuller of cock, fuller of joy, filled with the impending sense of something wonderful about to happen.
Att sensed it too. Maybe it was his cock. Maybe this position where they were not locked together-where they were at right angles and able to admire the full length perfection of each other's bodies while still preserving the vital plug and socket connection between them ... something unusual was happening. She could feel it in his cock, suddenly harder, suddenly transmitting to the throbbing, super sensitized walls of her pussy an urgent erotogram of higher blood pressure, increased heartbeat, rapid respiration. Att was getting ready to come!
She wanted to stop, make him rest a minute. It would be criminal to end it now just when she was getting ready to -- but she couldn't stop. Suddenly Clara was bouncing higher, harder, faster, deeper on the boy's prodigious prod. She felt a rising storm in her belly. It was coming, coming. She was coming. Ooooohhh Jesus, was she ever coming!
Great joyous waves of lust surged through her, ravaging her belly like a hurricane passing through some posh resort town. And still she was humping, thumping, bouncing up and down on Att's spindle, unable to stop herself, totally incapable of the tiny minute of self-control that would prevent this disaster and enable the boy to get a second wind.
She was crying, shrieking her outrage as she as coming and it felt so good and it was still coming and still feeling good and she was bouncing and jiggling and her flying thirty-nines were driving the poor lovely boy right out of his mind and his cock was so hot and so hard and thumping so fast that she knew he was going to slip and spill it and it would be all over and she was still bouncing and she couldn't stop and if she didn't stop but it felt so goooood.
Suddenly she felt a pair of hands on her waist -- hands from behind, holding her down, holding her still. Att gasped and held his breath, straining not to come. They weren't his hands. Now she knew what had happened to Toivo.