Chapter 2
Janet Judson was wrong about one thing. I certainly did know how many women had deep-seated sexual hang-ups; Dr. George Sherman and his wife Joyce had shown me the scope of this problem in statistical and emotional terms that would astonish even Janet.
The Shermans had been post-graduate medical students at U.C.L.A., examining and analyzing the basic foundations of human sexuality when Masters and Johnson had published their first studies on the subject. Inspired by the calm boldness of the two Eastern pioneers, the young, dedicated couple redoubled their own efforts while digesting every last detail of the Masters and Johnson data. Several years passed, and the first sensationalism of the bold new sexual frontier died down, at least in the public mind. Meanwhile, the Shermans forged ahead with their own studies, most of which involved clinical surveys among college students, a few call girls and various other samples of the general public.
Funds for their work were extremely limited during those two years, making the results of their studies limited but astonishingly revealing; particularly in one area. While Masters and John son continued to refine and expand their work across a wide spectrum of human sexuality, Joyce Sherman firmly insisted that George and she specialize in female sexuality-mostly because they had such limited resources and couldn't afford to effectively explore both sexes and the variety of problems involved. George had agreed; it made good economic sense and he knew that his spouse had a much better feel for finding new, rewarding pathways in their chosen scientific area.
Their work and fortunes blossomed by a quirk of fate in 1969. They were contacted by a prominent law firm in Los Angeles and informed that a grant had been bestowed upon them for the purpose of pursuing their work. The benefactor had insisted on remaining anonymous, but the grant was not. It provided $100,000 per year for ten years; a million dollars with no strings attached except the usual formation of a non-profit foundation, financial arrangements and records. Thus was born the Sherman Foundation. Within six months a building was constructed, equipped and staffed. The location was chosen with care; a tree-covered, three-acre site near Malibu Beach. It was perfect. Near the congested environs of the sprawling metropolis of Los Angeles, yet secluded from the curious public.
I first became involved after resigning from my commission in the Naval Air Force. I'd given up the military in an attempt to salvage my marriage. Barbara, my estranged wife, had never been able to adjust to my long absences from home; at least that was the rationale she continued to pound home. While never really passionate, our sex life had gone from mediocre to non-existent over a ten-year stretch. My resignation was for naught, because after six months at home the situation became unbearable. Finally we added to the divorce rate, and it was over.
Wifeless, jobless, and with no special skills, I turned to job-seeking as a distraction from the painful wounds inflicted by the tempestuous six months of violent fighting and the cold, vicious ordeal of court orders, lawyers, settlements, and that crowning day when the court made me a single, lonely man.
It was during this job-seeking period that I answered an innocently phrased want ad from the Sherman Foundation. It had simply stated the desire to interview single males, between the ages of twenty-five and forty, who were emotionally stable and without children. Remuneration to be negotiated. In brief, it said nothing at all about the type of work being offered.
My interview with the Shermans, the following morning after I had phoned for an interview, was both unusual and educational.
Seated in their large, well-furnished office, I studied my potential employers while they pored over my resume. George Sherman was a ruggedly handsome man in his mid-thirties. He was a powerfully built guy, with a deep chest and heavy shoulders. Even the heavy black-framed glasses perched on his straight nose failed to make him fit the popular image of a physician. His virility was undisguisable, as was his sharp intellect.
Joyce Sherman, his wife and associate, looked more like a lush show girl than a Doctor of Behavioral Sciences. Even the white medical smock she wore failed to obscure her full breasts and voluptuous hips. A thick, black cascade of lustrous hair hung down in raven splendor over well-formed shoulders. Her enormous, blue-violet eyes were shockingly frank and bored into mine with an almost wicked gleam as she looked up from my papers.
"I see you've recently been divorced, Jack. May we ask why?" she asked, a trace of a grin flickering across her full lips. They were perfect; velvety smooth and sensual.
"Sure, I don't mind," I answered and related my marriage saga.
"Do you feel your wife was at fault?" Joyce asked when I'd finished my dissertation.
"No, not directly," I stated calmly. "It was nobody's fault, actually. We were simply sexually and emotionally incompatible. I suppose, if blame could be assigned, I'd lay it at her mother's doorstep. Yet that's not fair either. Her mother trained her according to precepts of what seemed proper and correct I'm sure thousands of mothers did the same."
"Hmmm...," George murmured, tapping his glasses with a pencil. "Not an unusual analysis, but more deeply astute than you realize; more than the majority of people realize. Jack, in your truthful, objective opinion, how emotionally stable do you think you can be? Honestly, now! I don't want a quick, egocentric answer."
I thought for a few moments before answering, probing my inner self as objectively as possible. 'I'd say I'm above average; the Navy doesn't really dig unstable types jockeying a couple of million bucks worth of airplane around the stratosphere. Now, I have a question: what's the job?"
When George told me, I thought he was joking. Then, as he detailed their work, objectives and services, I realized he was serious.
"Now, let me get this straight," I exclaimed, "you offer inhibited females the services of a gigolo!"
"No, Jack," Joyce snapped sharply. "That's an emotional, non-intellectual response. We offer the sincerely distressed female with deep-seated sexually oriented inhibitions, a sexual therapist who, through a careful program, can make her realize the full potential of her natural sexuality. The process is difficult for her and the therapist. Difficult, frustrating, and many times traumatic. This isn't some dirty, male stud service, my friend. So just forget any such ideas. It's hard, agonizing work which can only be properly performed by sensitive, sexually healthy males with extremely stable emotions."
Immediately, I was sorry and embarrassed at my outburst. These people were obviously sincere, well-balanced and completely dedicated.
"Jack," George said calmly, "your response was perfectly normal. Relax and listen."
For over two hours I sat and listened. Li the end, I too was fascinated by the idea, the foundation and the Shermans.
"I would like to accept the job," I stated. "When and how do I start?"
George heaved a sigh, leaned back in his chair and looked at me with a big impish grin. "I should accept without further ado, then pay you a dollar a week. Aren't you even slightly interested in what the pay will be?"
I'd become so caught up by the scope and boldness of the work, I'd plumb forgot about the pay. "Whatever the going scale is for this kind of work will be fine, Doctor. I need very little really, and I wouldn't have the foggiest notion of what to ask; Christ, there's no job with which to compare wages."
They both chuckled at my dilemma and asked if twenty dollars an hour seemed fair, explaining that their records showed this to average out to around three hundred a week, when a therapist was on a case. I told them it was ample, in fact quite a lot more than I was used to making.
"Fine, Jack," Joyce said. "You'll be paid somewhat less than that while training, but still enough to live on. You'll be subjected to three weeks of intensive training right here at the foundation. Then we'll assign you a case. Report Monday at 9:00 a.m. And please don't be shocked at some of the training; everything will have its purpose. See you Monday."
The interview was over and I returned to my apartment. Over a cold beer and a ham sandwich I contemplated Joyce Sherman's last words. I couldn't imagine what they portended.
The following Monday I arrived punctually at nine o'clock and was wisked to the dispensary for a complete physical. It was performed with efficiency by a handsome brunette doll who answered to the name Gail.
With cool, calm dispatch she told me to strip and shower, then took my blood pressure and scanned my chest with a stethoscope, oblivious to my male nakedness.
I wasn't quite so detached from her voluptuous charms. Her gorgeous body was clothed in a very short, translucent uniform. Her full, ripe breasts strained against the flimsy nylon dress. The outline of two very large nipples was very distinct and appetizing. As she listened to my heart I was almost tempted to touch them. The thought caused my cock to swell to full erection.
She pretended not to notice at first. Then, as she tested for a hernia by inserting her middle finger under my testicles, she smiled wickedly and said, "Well, at least they found a candidate who's hung properly, for a change." With that, she cupped my testicles and squeezed them playfully. "It's going to be a real pleasure, Jack, a real pleasure."
I was about to return the caress by cupping one of those ripe, heavy melons when she moved away quickly, shoving a small bottle into my hand. "Pee in it, lover, that'll get rid of your hard-on." Then she walked briskly into another room, switching and rolling her lush, firm buttocks sensually. It was nearly five minutes before my erection left so I could pee in the bottle. After I successfully deposited my urine for the medical record I dressed. I hurried because to be late for my first orientation would be bad form. As I marched down the hall I was still trying to assess the attitude of that cool, hip nurse called Gail. Somehow her manner and language didn't fit the cool, scientific detachment one usually attributes to legitimate research programs. Oh well, I thought, so who's perfect; maybe she was just bored and decided to break up the monotony. Even so, the picture of her ripe, full ass cheeks swaying beneath the flimsy nylon skirt lingered. I wondered how....
"Good morning, Jack!"
Dr. George Sherman's deep voice pulled me from my erotic reverie with a start. "Good morning. Am I late?"
"No, no. Now, sit down while I explain the ground rules of our operation, your training, and why you will be exposed to some of the rather unusual segments of that training. Oh, feel free to smoke if you like. Care for coffee? I make it rather well. Have to, Joyce hates it and refuses to make a decent pot."
He did make good coffee. As I sipped the welcome brew, Sherman settled comfortably in the big leather swivel chair and studied me carefully.
"Jack, how many times were you sexually unfaithful to your wife?" he asked casually. The question caught me completely off guard. Before I knew it I answered truthfully.
"Six, maybe seven times ... Jesus! What a question," I cried. "Why the hell should you care?"
"Now, now ... I meant nothing personal. I was just making a very important point. The next question is even more relevant, so answer it honestly. Now, why did you sleep with other females? And I don't want any of that time-worn guff about the male weakness for a beautiful ass and big tits. I wanna know the real reason a man who really loves his wife would gamble on losing her for another piece of ass."
I mulled the question for a full minute as I sipped my coffee, trying to remember back. Finally I answered. "My wife didn't like to fuck." If he wanted plain street talk, I planned to oblige.
"Ah! Very likely. But why?"
"Christ, how would I know? Maybe her mother told her it was a dirty duty; maybe I didn't turn her on; hell, there could be a thousand reasons!" I exclaimed in mild exasperation. He was opening barely healed wounds.
"I wonder how many men ever took the time to analyze the problem from a very simple basic truth, a truth which is so completely obvious that only our sensitive male egos would blind us to its existence. Jack, a very large segment of the American female population is scared to death of their capability to experience sexual satisfaction; total, gut-deep, cunt-throbbing, satisfaction! Our studies prove it beyond a doubt. The same studies show that such females never really let go all the way. They simply don't have the guts to participate if they can't be assured of being the best performer on stage.
"That's half of the problem. The other half concerns conditioning and psychological perspectives. Actually, all women are far more sexually endowed than men. No! Ifs true. The problem is to release this latent sexuality; free it from several centuries of deep freeze imposed by archaic social restraints."
Suddenly I remembered an incident some years ago. My wife and I had attended a party at my club. For some unknown reason she really belted the booze. In bed that night she fucked like a turned-on French whore. In fact, I thought she'd flipped out because for the first time I actually felt her come. Her cunt had convulsed and squeezed my cock like a living thing. I'd gotten another shock that evening; my quiet, pristine wife had screamed fuck language with the ease of a drunken sailor.
"O.K.! I guess that makes sense, Dr. Sherman, but how do we liberate this mass of female lust from the loins of the American female?"
He chuckled. "Don't I wish we could. No, we haven't got the facilities, but we can help a few. A few who get backed into a tight enough spot to own up to their hang-ups and seek help. Our help, and now, your help also.
"Now, my boy, I must turn you over to Joyce for your first in-depth orientation on the average, American female. Believe what she tells you and remember it. She's an expert."
We shook hands and he left. Within seconds Joyce Sherman entered from a door at the other side of the office. At first I couldn't be sure it was the same Joyce Sherman I'd met previously. For one thing she wore one of the shortest micro-miniskirts I'd ever seen, topped with a see-through blouse that was very nearly transparent. Her breasts were magnificent; full, large and swaying with wanton sensual freedom. Large, dark aureole formed concentric backgrounds for the two grape-sized nipples, taut and erect beneath the flimsy material. It made my mouth twitch with a wild desire to suckle them; I could almost feel their hard, throbbing texture.
She didn't greet me for several seconds, busying herself with some papers on the desk. Her hair was no longer confined in the sculptured, upswept design I'd noticed yesterday. Instead it was arranged loosely in a dark, thick mane which fell down over her shoulders in raven-black splendor. I longed to bury my face in the midst of the lustrous mass.
She stopped fussing with the papers, finally, and walked provocatively from behind the large mahogany desk, sat down lithely into a straight chair and crossed her legs. A quick flash of velvet thigh and black crisp pubic hair made it quite obvious that Dr. Joyce Sherman wasn't wearing panties.
A wicked little smile played around her mouth, making her full sensual lips more inviting than usual. "Is something bothering you, Jack? You seem to be nervous. Just relax! We have quite a lot of material to cover, so let's get right to it."
"Right on, Doc," I agreed, but my eyes were still glued to the fantastic sight of her naked ripe thighs. The tiny skirt barely covered the area occupied by that thick, dark thatch of cunt hair.
"Your function with our clients will be that of a beau, boyfriend, lover and sexual guide. Most women don't realize it, but they all are basically whores. They pretend to be either above such crassness or hide behind the old rationale that love and sex are Siamese twins. Don't ever believe it; it's a lie. There isn't a woman alive who doesn't dream of being able to produce a good hard erection in every man she meets. Most of them pretend that male nudity, especially the sight of a cock and balls, turn 'em off. Another He! Seven out of ten women are crotch watchers, and don't forget it Some actually come in their refined pants at swimming parties as they watch the bulge of a man's genitals. I know, because it happens to me every summer.
"The problem, of course, is to make 'em admit it to themselves. Next they must be persuaded to use and enjoy their own sexuality; openly and without hesitation. Last, but not least, they must be trained to be the sexual aggressor. That's the toughest job you'll have. I'm sure you will agree that a woman who takes the initiative really blows the mind of the average male."
"No argument, Doc," I grinned. "At least, I know what it does for me."
She uncrossed, then recrossed her legs, giving me another fleeting look at her magnificent snatch. My cock began to swell and pulse with excitement, so I too crossed my legs.
"Next, you must somehow persuade them to use 'fuck talk' to express their feelings. This will help loosen up their own inhibitions, and also it causes the man to relax and really turn on," she concluded. "OK, that's about it except for the no-nos, etc., which are clearly out-lined in this booklet. Also, you will find several procedures in it that will be quite helpful in breaking down the reserve of more difficult subjects."
She twisted sensually to her feet. I rose from my chair also and preceded her to the door. I hoped my hard-on wasn't too apparent. As I turned to allow her to precede me through the door, she walked sensually up to me, thrust her firm breasts out boldly, placed her hand on my crotch and squeezed. Her fingers were strong and supple. Wise, too, the way they fondled my cock.
"Well, at least I know our girls will have a beautiful hard cock to help them emerge from their cocoons," she breathed huskily. "What's the matter, doll? Aren't I acting enough like a doctor? Don't forget that I'm also a woman. And I don't have any hang-ups, baby. I just love to fuck!" Her left arm encircled my neck and her soft mouth covered mine. Her lips were soft, full and moved hungrily. As I returned her kiss her soft tongue slithered into my mouth, flickering and probing in a wildly exciting French. Her heavy, full breasts pressed against my chest like two lustful mounds.
Then she did something I'd never experienced before-she took my right hand in her own and guided it beneath her skirt and pressed it against her bare crotch, then thrust her mons veneris against it with a lustful grind of her fabulous hips. My fingers closed over a thick, crisp thatch of moist pubic hair and two thick, meaty labia.
I disengaged my mouth from hers and gasped with disbelief and bewilderment. "Goddamn, lady, you better not be a prick teaser. Jesus, my cock is ready to burst and my balls are tingling like vibrators. What the goddam hell does this lead to?"
She pulled away and chuckled. "Number one, I needed to prove a point Can you imagine a woman who acts that way to her husband, not just on occasion, but consistently? What are the chances of him straying when he's got that waiting at home?"
She was right! It was one helluva way to prove her point, but she had most certainly made it beautifully. Christ, a wife like that was the main subject of every fantasy I'd ever had.
"Doc, if I had somebody at home like you, I'd tear up the freeway gettin' home. But now I got this little problem," I groaned and glanced down at my throbbing crotch.
She swiftly went to the desk and punched the intercom. "Is my husband gone for the day, Gail?
"No. I just wanted to cross-check some statistics. I can see him tonight at home. Thanks. Oh, by the way, Gail, have Janet Judson come in first thing tomorrow. I'm going to assign Jack Manley to her case. Yes! I'm sure you noticed, honey, you always do. But remember, dear, one must wait one's turn. Now why don't you go on home, change your wet panties and take a nice cold shower. That ought to help until my goddamned husband gets to your pad!" She slammed down the phone violently. "Bitch. Jesus, that cunt will have fucked every man in America before she's sixty."
I assumed she didn't exactly approve of Gail; she obviously suspected George of hanky-panky with the brunette sex-pot. Christ, I couldn't imagine her being second cunt to any broad alive, although I could still remember Gail's sensuous, swaying buttocks and the deep, inviting cleft between.
I made a mental note to follow up on that later; right now I was about to explore the possibilities of Joyce Sherman, a very sexy lady by any standards.
She whirled around from the phone, eyes smoldering with anger. "Fuck 'em, they deserve each other. What say, Jack. How would you like to fuck a horny Phd ... right now." Without waiting for me she ripped off the flimsy blouse, unsnapped the tiny skirt and stood before me naked.
"C'mon, you big beautiful stallion. Joyce wants that beautiful cock in her hot cunt. I may fuck you to death for the pure hell of it," she stated, then threw herself down on the huge couch on the far side of the office, legs spread wide. "Peel off those threads, doll, I wanna see that thing between those big muscular thighs. I'll bet it's a beaut."
She was mad, really boiling. So what. If she wanted to fuck somebody out of vengeance, it might as well be me. But I decided to make her work for it, just to let her know I wasn't a puppet on a goddamned string.
As I ripped off my slacks, shirt, and shorts, I let the power of my loins surge into my cock. When I faced her, naked, my organ was fully erect. Her eyes widened as she stared at my swollen phallus. I saw her anger melt into aroused interest. "My God," she breathed hoarsely, "that's really something."
I moved to the side of the couch and planted my feet apart in a firm stance. "It'll take care of your needs, baby. Now, while you think about this in your cunt, I'd like to have a little fantasy fulfilled. I've always wanted to see a funky, beautiful woman masturbate. Play with that beautiful twat, Joyce darlin', or I'll just walk out and let you wonder about eight inches of hard cock, and how it would feel inside that hot, twitching cunt of yours."
Her blue eyes gazed into mine, searching and wondering. "You have all the makings of a real bastard, don't you? So, what the hell; why not. Anything that turns you on."
Still gazing deeply into my eyes, she moved her hands over the creamy swell of her soft, smooth belly with loving, tantalizing strokes, caressing herself with lascivious delight. Gradually, her long, supple fingers moved downward to her inner thighs. With languid movements her fingertips glided around, up and down the velvety, ripe flesh of those lush, full thighs.
With a sigh, she opened her thighs wider. The heavy, black thicket of crisp black pubic hair parted as she moved, exposing two fantastic labia. They were perfectly symmetrical and very full. Wine red was the best color comparison I could think of at the moment; like rich, red port. The turgid lips were ringed with sparkling droplets of cunt juice oozing from the inner vestibule of a pink, moist vortex of slick, pulsing cunt meat From the top of her cunt lips a bright red shaft of slick flesh extended down to the very edge of her cunt hole. There, a pea-sized bauble of glistening flesh lay exposed. I'd never seen a more perfect, well-developed clitoris.
With slow, deliberate care she parted the wet, ruby lips with her forefinger and middle finger so I could get the full effect of her magnificent cunt. Then, with her other hand, she began running her long, tapered forefinger up and down the slick, wet furrow between her labia, stroking, rubbing and massaging her clitoral shaft.
Her hips began moving in rhythm to her caresses and the swell of her mons veneris soon was heaving, rolling and swaying with sensuous abandon as she began to let herself become captive to the erotic sensations created by her fingers.
"Mmmm ... ohhh ... I'd forgotten how good it felt to do it alone ... mmm ... my cunt juice is just oozing ... ahhh," she murmured hoarsely. "Now, for the make-believe cock!"
With deft ease she inserted her long middle finger into the dilating orifice of her cunt hole and plunged it deep inside. Her eyes clenched at the sensation and she closed her thighs tightly around her hand.
"Ohhh ... mama's really enjoying this ... ohhh ... yes!"
She relaxed her thighs and opened them again, then began sliding her finger in and out of the juice-covered hole with long, deep strokes. Her belly rippled as the finger-fuck sensations increased. Faster and faster her sopping wet finger pistoned in and out of her leaping, dripping cunt. Suddenly she drove it in deep, closed her thighs with a wet smack and moaned softly. Her thighs, belly and stomach muscles jerked in a short, sharp spasm. She had come.
Quickly, I straddled her waist and positioned myself over the heaving, jutting mountains of full, lush tit. I let my balls rest between these succulent orbs. This placed the large, heavy load of my prick directly in line with her slack, full lips.
"OK, Joyce ... now me!" I croaked. My voice was choked with raw lust. Her masturbation had made my entire body sing with desire. A small drop of seminal fluid had already oozed from the hole in my cock. The entire length of my shaft was trembling and pulsing to gain entrance to moist, hot flesh; any flesh ... mouth, cunt, ass ... I didn't care.
Her eyes opened. My cockhead was almost pressing against the soft portals of those lush, wanton lips. "Oh, baby! Gimme that gorgeous cock to suck," she groaned. Sluurrp! With one smooth lunge of her black-maned head, she closed the soft fullness of her hot, hungry lips over my pulsing cockhead, then pulled the thick, throbbing shaft deep ... deep ... into the hot, writhing depths of her mouth.
A hot, feverish glow was born at the base of my scrotum. It began to spread to my thighs, cock and balls as she sucked me with long, gliding strokes up and down my glistening, hard cock. She took the entire eight inches with each downstroke, letting her chin rest briefly in my bush of thick, curly pubic hair while she savored the fullness of my cock in her mouth.
On the tenth or eleventh stroke she began to feel the surge of lust I knew was being generated. Her nipples were hard, erect, and her velvety tits were beeWred with the blush of lust. She loved cock, both in her mouth and cunt. I wondered about the other hole: the soft puckered lips of her anus!
With a heave, she rolled me sideways off of her torso, but never lost her oral hold on my cock. With me now on the bottom, she parted my thighs to get better access to my cock and balls. She knelt, spread her knees to steady herself, then began to suck with violent, plunging lunges. I felt my balls grasped by strong, supple fingers. They cupped, squeezed, and massaged my swollen globes with fervent lust and desire.
Her wild, lashing tongue flickered around the ridge of my glans, slid underneath to the V notch where the glans joined my shaft, and delicately stroked this trigger-spot with artistic, flicking stabs. A wave of tingling pleasure shot through my cock and balls. Another rolled up my spine. God! No other feeling in the world equals a woman's mouth sucking the length of your cock while she fondles your balls. I could feel that wild tingle of heat in my scrotum as my seed began to gather for its journey up my pulsing, throbbing cock.
I wanted this to be a double-feature because it would probably be the first and last time I would be able to fuck the beautiful Joyce. Quickly I twisted and wormed my head between her widespread thighs and looked up. Wine-red, glistening cunt lips gaped wide, dilated, then closed as she thrust her mouth downward on my pulsing cock. Framed by the crisp, black cunt hair and full, meaty butt cheeks, the dripping vortex of slick, writhing cunt meat was a ball-tightening sight.
Reaching up, I buried my hands in the soft ripe mounds of her rolling ass cheeks and pulled that mass of sopping cunt, juice and crisp, black hair down onto my face. Waves of gut-pulling, searing lust engulfed my senses as the mass of wet, hot, cunt meat ground against my mouth. It writhed, lunged, and lunged ... pulling my tongue deep into the writhing, slick folds of steaming cunt A strong, musky scent assailed my nostrils as she flexed her cunt muscles. My tongue was squeezed with the wild ripple of her educated vaginal muscles; then released ... sending another series of sensual shocks through my inflamed brain.
Probing upward, the tip of my tongue found the throbbing, hard pip of her clitoris. I flicked it with hard, lashing stabs of my tongue, then sucked it into my mouth. I rolled the hard, throbbing bauble between my lips, savoring the sweet musky flavor and the pulsing throb of the slick, juicy clit. In response, the thick, swollen walls of her cunt lips closed over my entire face, chin, nose and mouth as she thrust downward in a sharp spasm of lust.
I wanted to fuck! I heaved her writhing body onto the floor and rolled after her. She was on ail fours, her large, quivering buttocks raised high. In the center, between the deep cleft of her butt cheeks, a hot, wine-tinted cunt opened and closed with rippling desire. "Hurry, Jack, hurry!!" she moaned hoarsely, panting with desire. "In my ass ... fuck me in the ass ... fuck me ... ooohhhh God! I want that big cock ... inside, deep, deep!" Her open butt cheeks rolled wildly, quivering with need.
Planting myself solidly, I slid my fingers into the sweaty crack of those lush, ripe butt cheeks, parted them and guided my cock into the slick, hot furrow and into the center of her flaming core. My cock was literally sucked into the hot, juicy depths of her rippling cunt.
Clutching her fiercely, I fucked her with long, powerful lunges, increasing the tempo after each thrust. Deeper and harder I fucked, the head of my cock sinking into the soft spongy mass of her uterus on each downstroke. The sensation drove me wild!!
The wildness of my lust made my cock move like a piston as it plowed into her with savage speed. On one of those savage out-strokes my cock came out of her cunt and plunged into the orifice of her asshole just above. My cock was buried a full four inches into the tight anal channel before I realized it. The snug tightness was fantastic!!!
"Oh God ... don't stop ... go on ... fuck me in the ass. BUT FUCK ME, YOU BIG BASTARD ... OOOOOHHHH ... GOD, GOD!!! YES ... TM...."
As she screamed out her pleasure I was thrusting deep into the tight, pulsing core of her asshole with savage powerful lunges. I had pumped exactly four times into the creamy depths when I felt my seed gush from the bowels of my scrotum and burst into the well of her anus in great, gushing spurts. They shot deep into her rippling, convulsing asshole just as she shrieked with ecstasy and writhed into the searing lift of a shattering orgasm.
"Jack ... JACK ... OOOOOWWWWHHH ... FUCK ... FUCK ... COME ... HOT CREAM ... ALL OF IT ... GIVE ME ALLL ... AAAAAHHHHGGGG!!"
I must have fainted from the sheer power of the pounding lust that the fuck had produced, because the next thing I knew she was licking my still-erect cock, savoring the come that was beginning to dry up. "Yummy," she whispered hoarsely. Finally she licked her lips and sat up. Gazing at me with sex-glazed eyes she said, "You're some stud, Jack. I haven't been fucked that way for ages. I thought my cunt would be in spasms for a week. Let's don't let that be the last time."
From the look on her face I knew it wouldn't be; after all, she was the boss-lady.