Chapter 9
Wow! Clara tried to remember when that had last happened. Old Harry had never been much for blow jobs. There had been one guy she knew back before Harry had come along. She didn't mind a little Hollywood carpentry, but she had always suspected that most tongue-and-groove men were that way to preserve the pristine quality of their hard-ons. Or maybe it was the tongue-in-groove work that got them so turned on that by the time they finally got around to sticking it in they were ready to explode anyhow.
But this lovely nameless hard cocked boy had already convinced her that in the staying-power category he was miles ahead of any other contender she had ever known. If he was licking her crack it was because he wanted to. This boy, she strongly suspected, would never do anything he didn't want to do.
He seemed to be enjoying himself at the moment, his head buried in her crotch as he knelt beside the bed. He was licking her clit, running his tongue in loving circles around the marble hardness of that sensitive organ, stopping from time to time to lick the sensitive inner surfaces of her pouting, auburn-haired vulval lips.
It felt so good she found her thighs opening wide against her will. Her hands went down to capture his head and draw him in deeper, harder. He stopped licking her clit and drove his agile tongue into the portals of her vagina, augering its supple length into her with lightning forays, darting at the passion-flushed membranes from unexpected angles that made her want to wiggle and giggle.
It was the, the full-fashioned, far-out turn-on she got from six solid inches ram slamming through that aperture she had in home plate. But it was a pleasing enough turn-on to have a tongue up her pussy and to know that that tongue belonged to a marvellously stiff cocked, hard bodied golden skinned boy who, sooner or later, was going to get around to doing whatever happened to be on his inscrutable mind. It would turn out, she hoped,. to be fucking. But meanwhile, an hour or two or three of this would do.
Ooooohhh, would it ever do! It had been so many years since Clara had been worked on by an expert that she had quite forgotten how luscious can be the simple foods of life. The boy was eating her with great gusto, savoring raw meat with no salt, no seasoning save that of love's elixir which was beginning to flow copiously from her suddenly vibrant and throbbing cunt.
Where on earth, she wondered, had a boy of his age ever managed to pick up all these techniques? To her surprise and delight he was giving her almost as much pleasure with that supple tongue as he had with six hot throbbing inches of hard cock. How long could he keep it up? More important, how long would he keep it up?
He still knelt beside the bed, nuzzling deep into her widespread crotch. She felt her legs moving and abruptly realized they were waving wildly, uncontrollably, as they expressed delight with all the lovely things that head between her thighs was doing to her long-deprived body. She closed her thighs over his ears and he dived in deeper, fastened his lips over her clit, sucked it, and let out his breath suddenly. The abrupt in-and-out movement of that throbbing sensitive organ between his lips nearly sent her up the wall with sheer erotic delight. He closed his lips over her marble-hard clit again and began sucking and puffing in rapid alternation, drawing it in between his teeth, pushing it out, pulling it back in again.
Suddenly Clara's bode, melted, dissolved and flowed; in great flaming sheets of passion. It was not like the great gut wrenching orgasms that his cock had given her out in the trailer. This time she actually felt like she was coming apart as that incessant movement, that sucking and puffing on her clit drove her past the limits of sanity, drove her wailing and screeching over the edge of a chasm of orgasm. "Ooooohhhh!" she moaned, "OOoooh, WOW!"
She didn't know what had happened to her. From the waist down she had completely lost control of her body. She sensed her legs waving wildly, thighs clasping and unclasping over his ears as the boy hung in there licking her cunt, suck puffing her clit, caressing the smooth hemispheres of her thrumming ass with his hands, getting a finger down there to tap on her twittering asshole until sensation after erotic sensation piled up and snowballed and she was going right out of her mind.
But oooooohh, did it ever feel goooood! It felt so good she literally didn't know what to do. Fucking, for Clara, had always been a cooperative affair, and here she had a disembodied head between her legs, giving her the most unbelievable erotic trip she could ever remember.
It was funny. She had had tongues up her pussy before and it had never been any big deal. She had allowed men to do it because she had sensed that they really wanted to. But Clara had always had a predilection for good stiff cock - until now. She realized abruptly that she was no longer disappointed that he had not come all the way atop her in missionary position to give her another hour or three of that old one-two. That tongue was heavenly. He really was a lovely and most accomplished boy.
He had accomplished several things today that nobody had accomplished for the last year. She wondered if anyone had ever made her come so many times in such a short while. By now she should be tired -- exhausted and headachy from all this pleasure. Instead, all she wanted was more.
But it was so funny just to lie here without a man atop her, with nothing but a head between her legs licking her, kissing her, sucking her, giving her the most exquisite turn-on she could ever remember.
She had let her mind wander long enough for the worst of her uncontrollable spasms to pass. Now she could lie quiet again and let him lick her without shrieking, without waving her legs in the air like some berserk chorus girl. Then as he pursed his lips over hex clit and once more began that suck puffing, she knew it was all going to happen all over again. He was going to keep working on her tender, sensitive clitoris until he drove her right out of her mind.
Oh Wow! There she went again, wailing and moaning, kicking and screaming, rocking her ass frantically back and forth until his nose plowed erotic furrows in her secret slit. She had him by the ears, she had him by the nape of his neck, pulling him in deeper, harder, faster.
He grabbed her ass with both hands and took control, once more fastening his lips securely over the thrumming, throbbing, critical mass of her passion flushed clit. Once more he began suck puffing.
She came -- not once but repeatedly, until it felt as if she were turning inside out, as if his loving tongue had dissolved her insides and turned them into an immense sloshing. pool of love's lubrication that flowed from her, spurted from her, dripped and drained from her sopping cunt as she came and came and kept right on coming while that wonderful, that awful, wonderful boy kept kissing her clit.
Finally the boy had to come up for air. He must be drowning, she thought. There was an instant's roughness, dryness as he passed a corner of the bedspread through her crotch, wiped the fruits of love fulfilled from his face, then dived back into the fray, once more licking, kissing and suckpuffing her thrumming clit.
But this time she sensed a slight change. She couldn't quite make out what it was. Then suddenly she knew. He had been licking her from the bottom up. Now he was licking from the top down. The boy had gotten up onto the bed and now crouched beside her with his feet near her head as he plunged his downy cheeked face with its faint hint of moustache back into the abundant auburn ringlets of her pubic bush.
She put out a hand to caress his smooth, golden skinned body. He moved closer. He got his hands on her ass and pushed and prodded until she lay on her side, knees slightly flexed, with his lovely red head still between her legs, his mouth still over that most devastatingly and erotically sensitive organ in her body.
It took her a moment to understand what he was up to, then as he pillowed one ear on the smooth soft skin of her tingly inner thigh she realized he had made a comfortable bed for himself alongside her, one thigh for a pillow and her other arched leg for a roof. He stopped kissing her pussy long enough to run a burning line of kisses up the inner side of one thigh and down the other. She put her hands out to caress the smooth hardness of his waist and then she finally realized what she should have worked out from the very first: that if a man lies down head to foot facing a woman, with his face in her pussy, that man's hot throbbing cock is going to be sticking straight into his partner's face.
Now why, Clara wondered, hadn't she thought of that before? She tried to focus her eyes on the magnificent wand that wavered in the air scant inches away from her eyes. Finally she could see it clearly in all its thick headed, long shanked, heavy-veined glory. His foreskin was stretched tight over the marvellous magnitude of his erection. From its straining tip she could just see the deep angry purple of his bare cock head. His cock stuck straight out from his crotch, waving gently back and forth -- up and down with reference to the boy's body, she guessed, waving gently in time to the measured beat of his heart.
To her sudden mortification, she realized that this boy -- this novice child with twenty years less experience in the amatory arts than she -- his cock was thumping in time to a heartbeat substantially slower than the racing trip hammer thumping that was pounding away beneath her matched set of mammaries. How could he be so calm? How could he be so cool when he had licked and sucked her to within a raddled inch of insanity? Was this boy human? Where on earth did he come from? Were there any more at home like him? Suddenly Clara knew what she wanted to do with the proceeds when she sold the trailer. To hell with cruises where there were a dozen predatory females for everything that had a cock. If she could just find out where this boy came from -- if there were more like him ...
What was she thinking about? More at home like him indeed! As if one wasn't enough! She wondered what kind of people her neighbours were. Would they mind their own business if she were to make a home for this poor homeless boy? Maybe she could adopt him, sell the trailer and use the money to get his immigration status straightened out. If she could become his legal guardian ...
How long would it last? Would he bug out before she went insane -- fucked right out of her poor simple mind? She didn't care. She suddenly knew that no matter how she might bind him up with legal papers, this boy would always hold the real power over her. If he were to stop right now and refuse to continue what he was doing to her thrumming, throbbing pussy, she knew that no matter how outrageous his demand, no matter what she had to do to get him to go back to doing it again and again and again and again, she would pay it.
As if he were reading her mind the boy suddenly stopped that wonderful, mind blowing suck puffing on her clit. She wondered what had happened. Was he going to hold her up for blackmail? For money? Then, staring at the hot throbbing cock that waved only inches from her face Clara knew what the boy wanted her to do if he were to continue this marvellous mind blowing lingual massage of her super sensitized clit.
So ... how long had it been, she wondered, since she had dedicated herself to that noble calling? It had been a few years. It had been more years than she liked to remember. It was time, she guessed, to get back in touch. And speaking of touching ...
She put out a hand and captured his cock, which still waved forlornly in the wind, like some fleshy flagpole. As her hand closed over its hot hardness, she felt a little throb as the boy responded. It really was a lovely cock: not excessively long or thick, but as perfectly proportioned as its golden skinned, hard muscled possessor.
Jutting from his dense nest of reddish ringlets, its shank was solid, with a no-nonsense thickness which promised stability and strength. Heavy veins like a roadmap tracing crisscrossed the shank and prepuce, stretched to its ultimate by that round, almost golf-ball sized head which peeped angrily from the tight stretched tip of his foreskin. She gave the shank an affectionate squeeze and suddenly, like an emerging batholiths, the slick shiny purple head of his hammer erupted all the way from his tight-stretched foreskin. It was lovely, with a tremendously flared glans penis which, she knew from happy experience, could dig into the tender fibrillating walls of a passion flushed vagina like the barbs on a whaler's harpoon, dig in solidly and threaten to turn her inside out with the most delicious pain-pleasure sensation she could ever remember.
It was a positive paragon of pricks. Clara wondered if she had ever seen a more perfect specimen. She knew she had never felt anything one half so nice as the firm phallic fiddlestick this boy had used to play her violin.
It was an instrument, she realized, that merited tender loving care. This phallus had been hand reared, no doubt. But there is a time when a boy becomes a man and puts away a child's things. The most tender and loving hand could not give this magic wand the, loving attention it would require if its owner were to remain happy, contented, and willing to reciprocate.
Reciprocate -- what a lovely word. It brought to mind mental pictures of reciprocating engines with great phallic rods thrashing back and forth, back and forth as pistons went in and out, in and out with the tireless immutable rhythm of well-oiled machines.
This rod was oiling itself. As she studied it Clara saw a tiny clear drop of love's lubrication form at the tip of that prodigious prod. This rod, she realized, was a precision instrument, deserving of even greater care than a fine Swiss watch. Homely, handy measures were not sufficient for its care and well-being.
There was only one proper way to shield that wonderful round head now so cruelly exposed by its peeled-back foreskin. Only one way to save this lovely boy from the slings and arrows of the cold cruel world.
Clara pursed her lips. Moving her head forward with the care and precision of an astronaut in a docking manoeuvre, she came close, blew her warm, loving breath over the tip of his tool. She saw the spurt of fresh secretion and knew she had the boy's undivided attention. She came a millimeter closer and kissed the angry purple head of his hammer. Then she took a deep breath, prepared herself mentally and spiritually, opened her mouth and completed the docking manoeuvre.