Chapter 16
Later, tired of group experiments, they split into couples in various corners of the room where they continued with their lovemaking, taking a break between the end of the group stuff and the start of the individual stuff to draw a few tokes on some hash. But there were times when more intimacy was necessary, and this seemed to be one of those times. Yet they were close enough in the room that they could hear the other's sounds of love, could watch them convulsing in joy if they so chose.
John took her to some pillows in the corner, and they worked into a sixty-nine position, spread their legs so each of them could work their mouths to the fullest and the most loving extent, could suck the juices out of each other and make each other dry with exhaustion. Lori sucked John's cock into her mouth, felt it bulge against her cheeks. She enjoyed that feeling very much. She could taste sperm and cunt fluids, probably the juices of everyone present tonight. But that only added to her excitement, only served to arouse her further. By having the taste of all of them in her mouth at once, it seemed as if she were making love to all of them at once, fucking all seven of them ...
John licked deep into her fuckmound, had her dripping and heaving in short order, pushing her hairy pie against his face for more of the wondrous torture he perpetrated on her.
She clasped her fleshy thighs around his head, burying his face in her warm and tender, perfumed cunt. Perfumed by the musky secretions engendered by her lust. There was cuntsop and spilled sperm and birth control foam, and the heady aroma made him eagerly consume her as she consumed him.
He sucked her outer labes into his mouth, wallowed the dangling fleshy strips about, as if savoring pieces of filet mignon or some other succulent steak.
In turn, she sucked on his hairy balls, taking them, one at a time, into her soft mouth. A drop of jizz appeared at the end of his cock, and she went back and licked that away, loving the creamy texture and taste of it.
John spat out the wet labes and thrust his face hard into her cunt. His nose slid into her channel, and he dragged his face up, licking his tongue in, then trying to force his entire chin in, too.
"What the shit are you doing?" she gasped, wanting more of whatever it was.
He did not raise his head from the full banquet at which he was dining, but worked more lovingly in answer to her question. He began laving her entire crotch with his fast tongue, licking and licking and licking and deliriously, marvelously, sweetly licking ... Her thatch was soaked with saliva, and he was dampening the insides of her thighs, her ass cheeks and the crack between them, her asshole, and finally her cunt, tonguing deep and fast until Lori was coming, raising her leg to give him better sucking room, forgetting about his suckable cock, letting it dangle against her face, just coming and coming and oblivious to all else ...
John mounted her next, worked his hard penis between her legs and thrust his pounding, blood-filled log of cunt-pumping meat into her lovely sex jelly.
"Oh, Johnny, Johnny ... fuck me, darling!" she wailed as he possessed her completely.
He came down on her, lifted her up off the floor a little, holding her cradled in his arms while his man's organ did its fine and precious job between her gorgeous, twisting legs.
She cuddled against his neck, delirious with pleasure.
Her tits mashed against his chest, her nipples burning hard into his flesh, like rivets taken just recently from the basket, still glowing red.
She sucked and milked his cock with her hot snatch, rippling her countless hundreds of inner flesh folds with skill, faster and faster as if they were on a merry-go-round whose speed was picking up with every revolution.
His arms encircled her.
He pumped.
Humped ...
Fucked his dick into her steaming trench ...
"Kiss me, Lori," he said, his tongue licking at her lips.
And she kissed him.
Deep ...
Wet ...
Long ...
As he penetrated her, pumped and humped and banged and shagged and balled the shit out of her gooey little slot ...
"Lovely, lovely Lori," he moaned in her ear, after they broke the kiss to catch their breath.
She exploded into orgasm, cuddling him, gripping him tightly at the same time, clawing his back with her nails as the ecstasy became almost too much to bear, mashing her tits hard against this hairy chest ...
And he spat his sloppy, thick cock milk up into her convulsing twat ...
In their very well-appointed townhouse, Lena and Martin kissed passionately, rubbing their naked bodies together. There was a heavy sound of breathing in the bedroom, and the thump of his heart so audible it seemed it would burst very soon.
"Fuck me now?" she asked, worried that the hard, steely dick would wilt and die, as it did more often than not. That wasn't such an uncommon event. Many men wilted, quite often. But with Martin, it was final for the night. Unlike other men, it would not get stiff again later when it realized what it had missed.
"You're lovely," he said.
"Fuck me, please."
He rolled on top of her and slid between the legs she spread so readily. He looked down, at her, felt his prick pulse as he guided it to the trembling wet labia that concealed the channel of heaven behind, the tunnel of her perfect, tight quim.
She pushed her crotch up, urging him with the writhing, heated need of her sensuous body. For a woman in her late thirties, she was a stunning girl, firm and ripe and as fuckable as she had been the day they were married.
He rubbed the knob of his penis against her steamy twat hole, then slid it into her.
"Yes, Marty! Yes, yes, yes, darling!"
"God, so hot!" he said.
"Hot for you."
He pushed hard, pumped a second or two, then slid the hard prick to the balls in her tight quim. His belly slapped against hers as he collapsed on her, and he called her name softly in time with the booming strokes of his needful, pleasure-giving dong. His nuts slapped between the halves of her ass ...
"Oh, Marty, harder!" she groaned, arching her back, pushing her breasts into his face.
He was not going to go soft and limp tonight. She could tell that he would last and that it would be good, what she wanted and needed. She reached around his hip and grasped his swinging testicles in her hand. They were vibrating, quivering in their sac. No! No, damnit, no, no, no, she wouldn't let that happen! She wouldn't let him cream his balls before she was thrust over the edge and had her own climax. That happened almost as often as his failure to stay hard.
She let go of the full nuts to keep from disturbing them any more than she already had. She rammed herself at him as if the roles had somehow reversed and she had become the man, fucked faster and faster, trying to make it to Paradise before those quivering globes spat their fluid. But there was simply not going to be enough time. She sensed that, knew it intuitively. She felt his staff stiffen and swell in preparation for the spurting of his nutjuice.
"Creamy cunt ..." he said. He had always liked to talk with her when he was coming, liked to tell her about the sweetness and slipperiness and tightness of her hot vagina. Later, he would deny he had ever used these words he spoke now. "My Lena ... hot ... fucking little cunt ... fuckjelly ... baby, baby, NOW, NOW NOW NOW!"
His burning sperm slopped into her, the teeming mites swimming up her sucking channel in search of something to fertilize-where they would find nothing.
Another gooey wad of it ...
And then a final sputtering ...
Marty rolled off her, flopped onto his back, his limp penis wet with strings of sperm and the creamy clear juice of her cunt. In seconds, he was asleep, lying there almost like a baby, like a child-certainly not like a man. And she was left incomplete, desiring her own climax, her own moment of pleasure which he had not-as usual-been able to supply her.
Lena got up, her knees weak and her thighs stiff. She felt as if she had been drugged, then tortured. He cunnie ached, like the socket from which a tooth has been pulled, ached to be filled up and satisfied. Her tits were hot, the nipples impossibly tight. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she tiptoed across the room, through the door and down the hallway to the bathroom. His come dribbled through her sex lips and down her thighs, hot wads of creamy come.
In the bathroom, she put the lid of the commode down and sat on it! From the cabinet beside the toilet, she withdrew a plastic, prick-sized personal vibrator. She plugged it in, set the speed for slow, and thrust the artificial penis into her dripping slot.
The bathroom seemed to sway, dissolve, reform, dissolve, over and over as her cunt responded to the jiggling tease of the manufactured pussy pleaser.
If it could only be Marty ...
She groaned softly.
She came.
Sperm and cuntsop ran down her legs. She tried to pretend that the sperm was from this organ, the plastic one, that she was receiving real, honest loving. It almost worked. Not quite ...
She sucked the instrument clean, dried it on a towel. She washed her legs, sopped the juices off her cunt labes, and dried herself. She felt much better.
She went downstairs, into the living room, through into the kitchen.
She got a glass of orange juice.
She carried it from room to room on the bottom floor, admiring their house.
She touched the fabric of the sofa.
She stared, as if for the first time, at the crystal chandelier in the dining area.
That had cost four hundred dollars.
She thought how lucky she was.
Sex, after all, was such an esoteric thing.
An animal drive, really.
Sure it was.
This was what counted.
Comfort.
Pure comfort.
They had everything they could possibly want, didn't they?
Sure they did.
They had comfort.
What else was there?
She finished her juice and went to bed.
Lori had her wonderful legs locked behind Milo's back, forcing his swollen wang as deep as possible into the steaming hole between her legs. She worked her cunt muscles expertly, and he was wildly joyous as he plunged his hard meat home again and again, right to the fat hilt, his balls even pressing into the wet slit a little. He like Lori immensely and told her so with each sucking, pounding thrust into her tunnel. This kind of hard, wild fucking would drive some girls insane, or hurt them, but Lori took it and humped her butt off the floor for more. Indeed, her need and drive had scared him a little at first when he found he could do his most forceful screwing and still leave her wanting more and more.
She groaned under him as he thrust, running the bone of his manhood along the top of her lovely tunnel, irritating the clitoris as much as possible. He had been holding her perfect ass cheeks as he stuffed his horn into her, but with her legs locked behind his back, that was not necessary. He slid his hands up to her magnificent breasts and fondled them, drawing out the impossibly long nipples. He thought they must be a full inch in length when they were fully excited-like they were now.
She came.
She came heavily, crying, bucking and bouncing.
Her rich fuck flesh squeezed his dong like a vise, tighter and tighter as she erupted and seemed to be trying to pinch off her peak or stretch it out so that it would last.
"UNNGGHHH ... UNGGHHHH!" Her pretty mouth went slack, her eyes wide and rolled slightly back in her head.
He thought she would probably ask him to fuck his rocks off now, so that they could fall apart and rest, but she did not. Instead, she continued to flex her inner muscles, continued to pump him vigorously. This was a chick who needed to come again and again, perhaps even more than any girl he had ever fucked. She had a terrific driving sexual energy, and he began to fear she would drain him dry of bodily fluids before she was done.
She bounced.
Bucked ...
Heaved ...
She twisted back and forth as if she were trying to break his cock in half. The new movement caused her to spasm again, and when she did, Milo felt his nuts give up their battle, and the thick slop of his load spurted into her cunt which so eagerly thirsted after his male drink.
Her cunt continued to suck at his cock, for she wanted more, wanted fucked until her appetite was whetted for some time to come. He found that he shrank only partially, becoming semi-turgid. To his surprise, and sheer delight, she made him pull out, then scooted down on her ass until her face was in his crotch. She took the sperm and cunt-sticky wang between her lips and sucked him into iron again. The sight of her lovely, hungry face gobbling his prick made him want to take her again, so soon after the last moment of completion.
He pulled out of her mouth and started to urge her up, but she did not want exactly what he wanted.
"Shoot into my stomach," she said.
"You want me to punch it through your belly button?" he asked, grinning at her.
"No!" She had read this in a book she had picked up at the Doubleday shop, a book on marital relations. She was too excited to be in the mood for light banter now. "Into my stomach. Not in my mouth. I want your cock stuffed down my throat!"
"It's too big!" he gasped.
"No it isn't."
"You'd choke!"
"Not if you do it right," she said, seeing that the idea appealed to him and that he needed very little more coaxing.
"Lori, look-"
"Fuck my throat, Milo!"
"But--"
She picked up the pillow they had used under her ass earlier, when he had been pronging her fuckbox. Now, she placed it under her lovely shoulders and hung her head backwards, down over the pillow. "Come around in front of me, or behind my head rather, and fuck it down my throat."
With a mixture of eagerness and reluctance, he obliged. When she opened her mouth, he could see far down her wet throat. He stuffed the head of his cock in her mouth, then slid it to the base, his ball bag hanging down over her nose, his pubic hairs mashed into her mouth, sprouting around her lips.
"See," he said, pulling quickly out, "you couldn't do it, Lori."
"You just kept it in too long!" she said, as if she were exasperated with him.
"What?"
"Only keep it shoved in my throat for a couple of seconds, then pull it back into my mouth-not clear out, either-so that I can breathe. It's that simple. You got that?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding.
"Beautiful big pussy fucker," she said.
"Mouth fucker."
"That too."
She opened her mouth.
He slid his cock in and watched as it sucked into her throat. He stroked it to the hilt, pulled back into her mouth, then rammed it deep again. She kept swallowing, which made her throat muscles contract on him like cunt walls, only tougher, tighter, more exhilarating.
"Soon!" he gasped.
He pumped faster, aware that she could not be hurt, that she knew what she was doing.
His prick head swelled for explosion.
She sucked, tongued and pulsed her throat so furiously that his nerves began to blank out from the excessive, unbearable, delightful but intolerable stimulation. His entire body trembled and shook with explosions of pleasure.
His balls slapped her face.
Her hands reached up and massaged his hips, grabbing his ass and urging him into her throat.
He was ready to come ...
Lori was having orgasm after orgasm, even though no one was touching her steamy little cunt. Just sucking him into her throat like this seemed to set her off. There was even juice trickling down her smooth thighs ...
"Now! NOWNOWNOW!" he gurgled, slamming down her throat, mashing balls and hair into her nose.
He moaned.
His sperm spattered down her throat, a thick wad of it.
He thought-though it could only be sheer fantasy-that he could hear the spunk splashing in her stomach.
His heaving nuts gave up more.
He did not know where it could possibly be coming from.
Water ...
Long and watery, but still coming ...
She gurgled, climaxing again ...
At last, exhausted and dry, he pulled from her mouth, rolled over and clung to her. They lay there, silent, kissing, and happy for a long while. They whispered and talked, touched and kissed, and were walls against the loneliness of the world ...
At that same moment, the city's most pictorial daily paper, a sheet not known for its objectivity or for its intellectualism, was preparing a series of articles on the moral degeneracy of youth. Several of them were to do with the orgy method of love, the group sex sessions. The idea was to present the average Middle American with titillation while pretending that the subject deserved his attention as a great social problem of the day. That way, Middle American could read all the semi-erotic stories and get his / her jollies out of them while using the facade of clinical interest to justify this preoccupation with sexual detail and the sexual lives of other people. Color it social conscience and forget that nasty word voyeurism. Middle Americans would never be voyeurs. My, my, no. They didn't believe in free love, and stuff like that. They only read about it to protect their children from falling into its clutches. And besides, you know that these people who are advocating more liberal sex codes and a deeper understanding and freedom of the body, why you know that all of them have some relationship with the Communist Party, don't you? Well, of course. And so you have to read about them.
At the same moment, the same paper was preparing its latest pro-war reports. It had carefully avoided mentioning the fact that a number of the people supporting an anti-war amendment in Congress were veterans of the Second World War and of Korea, choosing to infer that most of them were either moral or physical cowards. After all, a man could not have a justified reason for being against traditional imperialistic values, could he? He had to be against America, didn't he? Sure he did. Sure. It was as simple as that. Very simple. Simple ...
The same readers who read the anti-youth news, the half-true, dream-concocted stories about sexual freedom and the unloving nature of it, read the war news, the pro-war reports, the attacks on the people who wanted peace, if even honorably. They made tongue clicking noises and gasps at the sexual freedom stories. They talked together and condemned people who were so interested in sex. They read the war stories and cheered the men, spoke approval of the enemy body counts. They lauded those who had fallen in combat, though they never remembered the names of the dead that, now and again, cropped into the news when the dead man happened to be the son of someone of minor importance (the sons of famous or important members of the establishment never seemed to die in war) or had died in some unusual manner. They shouted denunciations of those who would put soldiers on trial for killing women and children by the scores in a small hamlet of South Vietnam. Such, after all, were the mistakes and misjudgments of war, the Middle Americans said. Most of them even refused to believe it. War was nice. Sex was dirty.
The next day they would vary the news.
The story on war first.
Then the story on the sexually piggish youth.
Knowing there were good American boys protecting us made the threat of these sexually liberated kids less frightening.
The gun still ruled, not the penis. And the sexually inadequate violence freak was still the American ideal ...
Meanwhile, eight naked people in Brutus' pad sat around the kitchen table, a long thing with many chairs, and ate omelets which the host produced well and regularly to meet the demanding hunger of the exhausted people there. When it was over, they reluctantly agreed it was time to go home, and they dressed and left the little apartment above the leather shop, all thoughts of war far removed from their minds ...