Chapter 2
Oliver took a long, long shower, pleased with the knowledge his brother, sister, mother, and father could not interrupt him. They would not bang on this door and yell for him to get out. Hot water kept coming, too, in an endless supply.
He washed inch by inch, taking care to scrub places he normally passed over for lack of time and water. When he had scrubbed everywhere else, his hands went to his cock. Looking at the scrub brush with a smile, he hooked it by its strap on a fixture. Don't need to be rough with my dick, he thought. Only the softest touches here.
Lovingly he soaped the hair at the base of his cock, then gradually worked soap from the base to the tip, moving slowly and carefully. As he soaped he thought of the two women he had just left. Memory made his member stir. Damn! He hadn't fucked that much at one time in his whole life, before tonight. If he worked it right they would let him stay, he was sure. Mom and Dad were convinced he had run into an old friend, from grammar school, who was back in town, with his parents. He was going to visit with them, he had said, and the broad had gotten on the phone and made like George's mother. Asking permission and telling her not to worry, she and her husband would take very good care of Oliver and make sure the two boys didn't get into any trouble.
Dad had swallowed the story, he was sure, because Mom had been completely convinced by the sweet line that woman laid on her. When Mom would get around to telling Dad, he'd believe it. She was too dumb to lie.
Mom. As he soaped his dick, more and more, making suds which fell off into the streaming water, feeling a small excitement grow, he thought of his mother. What was she like in bed? She ran to fat all around her waist and her legs were thickening. Her boobs were big enough, though shapeless and drooping. She probably looked pretty good once. Now, though. He wondered what it was like to fuck her. What would it be like to approach someone as shapeless and large as her? He couldn't imagine her being able to move at all. He thrust slowly, trying to figure out the feeling. This cock, hard and long, slipping between two mounds of flesh, burrowing through the mountains of her thighs to find the hole. Would she be wet at all? Did she like sex?
Dad used to pat her on the ass before, but it seemed now that they never touched. Not when he could see it, anyway. He never saw them kiss each other, except for the peck that seemed to be standard marriage fare. After all these years, they must be bored with each other. By now they must have tried everything-from fucking in many variations through eating each other to anal sex to...
Her ass. It was probably easy to fuck Mom in the ass. She was a big woman anyway, with lax muscles and a lazy way about moving. The pillows, propped up so he could enter her easily-or would the fat of her stomach be enough of an elevation?
While she sprawled lazily on the bed, her arms folded so she could rest her head, he would watch the open invitation of her cunt and her ass-hole. Maybe talking to her would make her wet. Giving her a bad time, telling her what he would do to her, what he had done to the girls he took out, what had happened on the senior class trip, what he did with Tony while they "studied"; yes, the shock of it might make her wet in spite of herself.
He would get her to beat off, to use her hand to work up any flame of need she might be capable of. He imagined the girls he had fucked watching, and the remarks his father would make if he were there-not aware it was his wife being laid, of course.
That thought was enough to rouse his stirring cock even more. Yes. Dad, too, should watch, to know what's going on. But not know, until too late, that it was his wife getting fucked.
Oh, yes.
At the thought, he increased the soaping motion of his hand. Up, down, a little quicker now, to get it clean. To take away any badness that may have come to him from those two girls he had just fucked. To stir his fantasies about his mother's huge white ass; his to violate as violently as he dared.
Yes, when he was creamed well, and had worked himself to a sufficient pitch, he would approach and slip his cock slowly into her ass-hole. With luck it would be as tight as the virgin cunt he was used to. Her hole was large enough for his hand, he was sure. While he slowly, carefully fucked her in the ass he would move his fingers, and as much of his hand as would fit into her cunt. Who knows? She might start to dig it. Maybe she would like being fucked for a change. Dad was getting fat, too, and he probably didn't bother about satisfying his mate in bed.
It would be a quick kiss and maybe playing with her tits and shove it in, slam-bam and to sleep quickly after. Dad didn't have enough energy to open his own beer cans, how could he have enough to fuck?
Oliver was hard with need, his throbbing cock adding to its size with each stroke; each stroke of his fingers went harder, faster, more eager. He imagined his cock stroking in and out of her ass, easily, evenly. He could imagine her shuddering beneath him, shuddering with the thrusts of his cock, and with the exciting movements of his exploring fingers.
He leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, closing his eyes to everything now. All that mattered was the rapid movement of his hand, the building feeling of an explosion in his groin, moving up from the root of his long tool. His hand stopped then, and he surrendered himself to the relief.
For a few minutes he stayed under the shower, letting the water wash over him, washing away the traces of his come and removing the last tensions from his body.
Oliver shut off the tap and shook the water from his head. He opened the door of the shower looking for a towel. A sudden cry made him turn his head, questioning, toward the bedroom door, then smiled and buried his head in the towel.
By the time he entered the bedroom again, the two women were asleep, their arms around each other. He studied the two. Both were certainly lovely women. The redhead was fuller, with rounded tits and curvy, well-made hips and ample thighs. She was not fat though; her rounded hump of a belly was appealing and seemed well-muscled below the softness.
Oliver had the urge to touch her. He put out a tentative hand, and stroked carefully. It was hard to avoid the dark-haired girl who was slender and so much younger than the other. Her boobs were smaller, but had an even curve to them. They brushed lightly on the chest of her friend.
He sighed, looking at them, and stroking them lightly on creamy skin. When he stretched on the bed, his belly and chest fitted well with the back and ass of the dark-haired girl. Her smooth, cool skin made him want to squirm. He slipped his prick into the crack of her ass. Soft, it nestled between the soft mounds of flesh. He reached down for something to cover them with.
As he started to fall asleep he worked one arm under the girl's body to hold her, and laid the other across the two of them.
It had been only a few minutes that he had been sleeping, he thought, when something woke him. The redhead was pulling away from the tangle of bodies, muttering to herself. She moved through the shaft of light to the door. Oliver heard her speak, then realized that the phone had been ringing. He listened to the lazy, soft voice, then the door to the hall closed, and the room was dark. Moving closer to his bedmate, he fell back to sleep.
Carol awoke with the last image of her dream vivid before her: Tied to a thick, heavy post, she was tortured by sparks of fire licking at the hair surrounding her cunt. The heat passed from pubic hair into her cunt and shot through her body like the vivid red streaks of infection she had seen once on the arm of a friend.
She lay still in relief for a moment, then suddenly realized the source of her dream. The boy, Oliver, was curled around her, his body twined about hers, his legs and arms twisted with hers. And the flame in her cunt was need, desire; his cock rested on one of her thighs, the head teasing the top of the other at the juncture where her ass curved into her leg.
She explored her position carefully, anxious not to disturb Oliver, since she hoped to make use of him to ease this desire licking at her cunt.
Slowly she twisted to look at the wall of glass. Faint light was coming through it. Either it was still early, or the sun had not yet worked its way through the smog. It was probably later. Smiling, she remembered the events of the night before.
Georgie! Damn, she had known that women visited her roommate overnight, sometimes young girls, their soft tits loose and swaying easily under shirts or sweaters. It was a relief for them, to stay with a woman for a few days, and not worry about the problems of staying with a man. These free-spirited girls puzzled her.
Some of them were as young as fourteen, on the run from parents, but their eyes were hard with worldly knowledge. It was a blessing to be soothed by the soft hands of another female, they said; many of them had been beaten or raped countless times. Yet somehow they kept going, moving confidently, continually, through the streets and the country roads of the land.
Her childhood had been secure and sheltered. Until Carol had met her now dead husband, at 17, her desire and lust had been, at most, vague fantasies and inexplicit stirrings. Raised in the closed-minded atmosphere of church and middle class, she hadn't even known why sometimes she was wet between the legs. With fear she attributed it to some strange disease.
When small her mother had caught her touching the tiny slit between her legs; Mom slapped her hand hard. The lecture that followed instilled a sense of shame in her. Whatever was between her legs was not to be mentioned or discussed.
She received a strangely undetailed sex education, and began to wonder at her parent's silence on the topic. In her first year at college, with a joy in her newfound freedom, she began exploring topics her family had always considered taboo.
When men told her that they wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to perform odd-seeming acts with her, and because they loved her, she melted with delight. Gladly, she learned to do all the things they asked. Even without warning, though, she realized that all of her date-time activities were not a subject for dorm conversations.
Carol had always been silent during the all night talks the girls would have about men, about sex; she became known as a shy, lovely girl, who was rather dumb on the topic. God knows she certainly went out often enough, though!
The bitterness of these talks surprised Carol. Of course, men were a bit strange, sometimes a little urgent, but she had never met demanding, cruel men. How was it they knew she could be won by soft words and easy touches? It took her a long time before she realized that men could be bitter and harsh, too. One or two dimly remembered drunken experiences opened the door to pain and hate during sexual acts.
One night, a drunken professor at a party had talked her into the back bedroom of the house where the party was. He had closed and locked the door before he demanded she take off all her clothes and spread her legs.
Bitch! he had called her, and his gestures were none too kind. When she had balked, he lifted one unsteady hand and slapped her hard across the face. The sudden terror had driven all desire from her. He tossed her on the bed, forced her legs apart, and drove his monstrous cock into her. Without any care for her at all he pounded into her screaming slit, raking his nails across her tits, and laughing. He called her slut, whore, bitch, and kept on laughing.
His cock tore into her, and he pushed hard to satisfy his cruel lust. Each thrust was an ache, his hot tool scraping the protesting walls of her cunt; and her tears and protests only seemed to incite him more.
The sweat of his body, on her cold, fearful flesh, was repulsive. The smell of him seemed to be sour and hateful. As he started to come he leaned to kiss her on the mouth and she twisted her head away from him.
When he forced her mouth on his, with his tongue deep in her throat, the bitter taste made her gag. He came with his tongue pushing hers back, his teeth biting her lips. His stick was deep in her, hurting, the only relief was the sticky come. It seemed to ease the ache of her slit.
Done, he pulled his trousers back up and belted them shut. Wiping his mouth, he stared at her for a minute, then fumbled with the door and was gone. Carol turned from the door and curled her body into a tight ball and cried.
She had fallen asleep, and woke to find a young, blonde face near hers. The man was asking her if she was all right. The memory of her attack came back and she began to cry again. Slowly, he worked the story from her.
It was his room. He let her take a shower. By the time she came back he had smoothed the bed and hung up her clothes. He held her for a long time, talking and stroking her hair until she fell asleep, at peace this time.
In the morning, ah, in the morning! Out of gratitude, she moved down to position her face near his cock. While he slept she took it into her mouth and worked on it with her tongue. It began to harden, to grow, to throb in her mouth.
He moaned a little and a hand came down on her head.
"Hey!" he said, and she looked up. He had lifted the blankets and was smiling at her. She took her mouth away and questioned him.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"God, no. Oh, no, it's really nice."
"I was just, well, I just want to."
"Hey, just go ahead. I'm sorry I even moved. Go on, please."
"Okay." She smiled. He threw back the covers so he could watch. Beginning with the base, she used her tongue to draw a fine line along the underside of his cock. Her mouth covered the head when she reached it, and sucked gently. Moving back down, she brought a hand up to cradle his balls.
He was moving a little as her mouth traveled on his cock. She went up, down, using the tip as a break, when she would suck for a minute, or two, flicking the small portion in her mouth with her tongue as the thought occurred to her.
The saliva from her mouth was warming on his hot prick. A small amount of fluid was leaking from the enlarged head. The flavor he had was changing a little. She tried to set up a rhythm Her hand moved slowly and carefully, playing with his tender balls.
When he started to move his hips in an abortive rhythm, she took his prick into her mouth, as much as she could. She pulled, evenly, letting up as he moved in, pulling hard when he moved away. His breath was coming in loud, uneven jags.
Unexpectedly, he jammed into her mouth as hard as he could. Her mouth was full of his cock, and she wanted to gag. There was no room to breathe. Then his come flooded her mouth. She swallowed, again and again, trying to take all of it down as quickly as it spurted out.
He pulled out suddenly, leaving a trail of fluid on her mouth and across the bed. He was reaching down, to hook her shoulder and pull her up next to him. There was a strange look to his face, something baffled and determined.
She lay flat on her back, surprised and waiting, while he moved over her. Pushing her legs open with one hand, he brought his cock close to her cunt. Wet, from the surprise of his action, she watched him, creaming more as he waited, watching her face. Poised over her, he merely watched.
Twitching, she brought her cunt up, against the head of his cock. It was hot, hard; she wanted it. Again she moved against it, then away. Her body went hot as the blood raced through her suddenly. She reached up with her cunt again, teasing him, asking him: please!
The expression on his face never changed. She knew hers was twisted, changed by her rushing desire. Trying to relax it, she lay still, not thinking of his long, sweet cock. She let her body stay perfectly still and thought only of the strange, itching need filling her. While outwardly calm, her cunt contracted slowly, of its own accord. Her clit itched for his touch. She moved her eyes back on his face.
He looked warm, flushed with blood and with some kind of puzzling satisfaction. Out of control, she squirmed again, and a low moan escaped her lips.
As she began to say something, he moved. In a sudden rush, with unexpected force, his cock entered her and drove into the innermost part of her. Jamming her hips into his, she cried out. He was slamming into her, thrusting with great force, jackhammering at her cunt.
When she came, lost in a river of sensation, she cried out again. His mouth came down over hers. His tongue probed deep and she arched her back so that her aching tits lightly touched his chest.
He kept going, slowly, evenly, as she relaxed. Kissing her gently, tonguing her mouth tenderly, he kept her at a plateau of pleasure. She focused on his mouth and on his cock, alternating between his insistent tongue and the hard, long tool he plied her cunt with, drawing forth moisture from it as though his action were pumping her.
While he moved, probed, and she answered his movement, his hands caressed her tits, gathering their weight and moving them slowly.
They kept on until she lost all sense of time.
She forgot everything, even her identity, caring only that this continual motion not stop. A need was building in her again, a lust to have him bang her until it would be satisfied.
The need seemed to communicate to him, or perhaps he had waited long enough to please himself. Pulling his mouth away from her, he asked her "Again?" and, at her nod, lifted away from her with one leg hooked in his arm, his eyes caressing her. He lay closer, bringing her leg between their bodies. His cock was driving deeper into her, touching her in places so sensitive she gasped.
Until she relaxed to welcome each thrust with an answering push of her hips, he kept the slow pace. Then, urgently, he increased the rhythm and the pressure. As he had pounded before, he began again. It was different for her, though, with her lust slaked by the first fuck, she had a quieter, more careful need.
She moved with him, worked with him, aware of him more than she had ever been aware of a man in her cunt. She closed her eyes, and felt the long, hard strokes enter her, felt their bodies meet and press a moment before moving away quickly, only to come together again, harder.
The pace increased, the intensity built. She felt the first faint quivers of a climax in her belly somewhere.
"I'm going to..." she began.
"A minute," he said. "In a minute I'll come with you."
"Hurry," she answered. "Please hurry."
The word built in him. "Now!" he cried.
She let go, and the dam of desire broke. She felt him empty into her, felt the spasms of his cock and the answering spasms of her cunt. The release swept through her until she could no longer move. They lay together, gasping, flushed.
For a long time afterwards they clung close. As their breathing eased and their flesh cooled, they fell asleep again, waking hours later to the noonday sun across their faces . ... Carol knew she had met her husband.
Too bad the passion they had begun with had faded. He became so tangled in his career, so tied up with the myths of business, they lost touch. So much of his energy went to keeping up in his field that he had no time for his wife. He had no time to kiss, to touch, to fuck long hours, day after day.
He had long trips away from home and got into the habit of slaking his lust quickly, mindlessly. Often, too, he found women who were always available; women who wanted to advance their career by balling her husband. He had less and less time for the adoring woman at home.
So the adoring woman at home looked for other men. But she found boys most ready and willing. Working in an agency for young people, Carol found that young men wanted to fuck her to advance their careers. They thought an inside track to one of the agents might help.
Well it helped Carol all right. She came to appreciate the adorable fucking of these boys. The younger ones never seemed able to convince anyone older of their passion. Their ardor and vigor made up for lack of skill. She could teach them, though, to do all of the things she liked. She could dismiss someone who was getting too strong-willed, and find another young boy to give her head the way she liked, to fuck her in the style which she currently desired, and to listen avidly to her needs and her demands.
There were literally hundreds of young boys roaming the streets of the city, on the prowl for pussy. Females, too, like Georgie's little girls, roamed the countryside anxious to find food and a place to stay. There were small secrets to gaining these youngsters but it was much easier than trying to deal with the drunken, near impotents her own age.
Right now there was a boy at her back, his cock lying on her leg. The tip of it wet with the fluids caused half with memories, half with the nearness of this strong-willed, but quite, quite satisfying boy.
She reached with one hand, touching the head of his penis. It was slippery with the syrup from her body. He was half-hard. Carol curled her body around so that her hips did not move, but so that she could more easily reach the prick on her leg.
Carefully she began to stroke it so that the fluid covered it little by little. She dipped a finger into her slit, and took the moisture to spread on his dick.
The cock hardened more under her touch, growing steadily, but calmly ... it did not throb or pound as it would have if he had been awake.
When it was almost full length, and warming steadily, Carol brought her cunt down on his cock. To get it in more easily, she lifted her leg, and widened the lips of her anxious, wet cunt with her hand. Wriggling her cunt downwards she eased the huge tool into it; once partially in she let her leg down, and removed her hand. Working carefully, she began to move on the hard, strong tool inside her. His cock, without his conscious thought behind it, was better than any dildo she had ever tried. And better than many cocks, too.
She maintained a steady rhythm for a few moments when he suddenly thrust into her hard, then withdrew slowly. Shuddering, she lifted her head to look at him.
He was awake. Watching her, he thrust again. Then he closed his eyes, and kept the thrusts happening; hard in, slo-o-ow, even carefully to the tip out.
Sweat beaded her body. She responded with small movements of her hips to his thrusts. Otherwise she was still, and completely undemanding. His breathing was deep, but also even. One hand had come to rest on the side of her tit, but it did not move. He was not fucking her out of any strong urgency, but moved as if both building and soothing his lust at the same time. He could fuck her forever like this, she thought, and she would go on, enjoying it for the pure act, as if no lust motivated it at all, or hardly at all. They were fucking for the pure joy of it. Yet there seemed to be little actual joy to it.
She found great pleasure in the movement, the thrust of his cock. She traced the movement with her mind, and eagerly waited for the push inward, but it seemed more a detached curiosity on her part.
While she was sure he was enjoying the feel of his prick, and her sure, regular response, she wondered at his calm.
It was quite good, though, this fucking. His cock was large enough to push at the walls of her cunt each time he entered. She felt herself stretch and expand for his entry, and felt the slow expansion contracting, just as slowly as he retracted. The head of his cock touched the lips of her womb, deep inside, gently, each time he pushed forward, as if in a kiss. After this light quick kiss, the head moved back.
She thought of the cock inside her, suddenly, as a separate, tiny being, a small image of the man, burrowing into her flesh to get deep inside her, at the very depth of her, right at her inner being, kissing this hidden portion of her voluptuous body.
This why, almost reverent kind of balling was something that happened so rarely it surprised her every time. She felt awed and a bit careful of herself. This could be her interpretation, just her interpretation. Be careful, Carol, she thought. He could be merely hardly awake and fucking only half aware of what he was doing.
He could be totally unknowing of the effect on her. But surely, if he was aware at all of what he was doing, he would know that she was increasingly wetter, and that her breath was coming in shorter pieces, jagged and uneven.
It didn't matter, she thought. Her sensations were her own. What he felt was totally his to feel. And should this perfect rhythm they had developed falter, or prove unsatisfactory, then they would change to another.
"Hurry!" his gasp surprised her out of her reverie. A careful hand told her he was hot, a glance saw that his face was buried in a pillow, where his choking breathing was disguised. She worked the muscles of her cunt, anxious to please him, if he wished to come.
His face pulled away from the pillow and she heard the moan. The sound triggered something in her.
"Now!" she said. "Right now!" and let go. Through the vague mists of her climax she felt him clutch at her and arch away, uncontrollably.
Inside her, the gentle head had exploded into a mass of warmth; sticky fluid that was covering her, slipping past him and leaking out onto her legs and the already damp sheets.