Chapter 8
"Well?"
"Is that enough for you."
"Enough?"
"Yes, or shall I jam my cock in further."
"Will it go any further?"
In answer, he wriggled his pelvis and removed his cock just enough to show the tangles of pubic hair where they joined.
"Well, bitch?"
"Well, what?"
"Are you going to scream when I stick the bottom of your heart."
"Brag, brag."
Oliver felt giddy. They were nearly breathless and had paused the mad pace of their fucking long enough to catch their breath. Their conversations were catching them off-guard or taking up much of their air.
But he had lost tract of how long they had been fucking. After his first climax, with his cock nearly straight into the air though tucked into her cunt, they had fallen apart and cooled.
Almost immediately she had curled down on his belly, licking sperm and her juices from his cock. Damn if it hadn't immediately come up to . the occasion.
Now they were tight together, her feet tucked behind her head, half his weight on her upturned cunt, half on his knees and outstretched arms. Her short platinum hair was mussed, her eyes misty with sweat.
Oliver was developing a healthy respect for little, well-trained women. This tiny bitch might be near sixty, but he was excited by the mere fact of her experience.
Yes, some young girls he knew were full, round, well-fleshed, and had appealing smiles. But this weekend he was realizing the many benefits of age. Now he could understand why some men sang the praises of older women. There was a book by that name, he thought, but he could not remember the author-nor had any desire to look it up.
Well, not now. He pulled his cock a bit further from her slurping cunt, taking a deep breath to hold as he slammed down into her as hard as he could.
He heard her gasp; her eyes glazed.
"You like?"
"I like."
"More?"
"Please."
"Harder?"
"Yes."
You really like to be hurt, don't you, bitch? he thought. Before this experience Oliver had always taken special care to be gentle with females. Although he had yet to meet a virgin, he had determined that should that unlikely event occur, he would be as gentle, as unhurting as possible.
But maybe all women liked to be hurt a little. In any case, some of them liked to be hurt a lot. For this last group, pain translated into pleasure after a certain point.
He grabbed her shoulders, letting his nails rake into her flesh, ramming his cock into her again. Watching, he saw the change in her face again. This time she let all of her breath escape in a low moan.
"More?"
"Please."
"Here." Grunting, he began to thrust into her with a slow but even rhythm, each thrust as hard as his strength would allow.
She was making small, low sounds now constantly. Except to arch a little as he penetrated her, she didn't move. Sweat poured, slicking her body so he could keep hold of her only by gripping hard with his nails.
Her eyes were open, but she didn't see anything; it spurred him on to see how attuned to her own body she was. And, he thought, it was obvious he was reaching her in a way. How else could he communicate so well with a woman probably three times his age?
Generation gap! what a thought. Fuck to bridge the generation gap. How revolutionary a thought that really was. Yet if he went home and tried to take his mother to bed to understand her better she would pack him off to the priest or to a doctor
Now his daydream of fucking his mother resoundingly in the ass seemed a bit harsh. Unless, of course, he had no tender feelings for her. Or she really liked to be hurt.
like this bitch, this godawful beautiful old bitch so connected to him and so lost in her own world. Later he would ask her what she was feeling, what she was thinking, how she liked a kid, a kid! fucking her.
Kid, eh? Damn; if anyone had ever done better than this, he wanted to know how. He had never tried harder in any case; fucked with his whole soul, his whole body, only a small piece of his mind remained his own.
He'd never been able to do this before. Anyone else he'd ever run across he had had to keep busy with surface relationships. This bitch just wanted to fuck, to be fucked.
And his stiff raging cock was pounding sweet hell out of her flexing cunt. She was stretched by the years, so that clutching movement she made must be instinct. Her cunt seemed to caress the thrusting tool as though by a hand, or the tighter passageway of a much younger woman.
Leaning over he nipped at her breast with his teeth. She was soft in so few places, and so bony in every other place.
Pounding her steadily with his cock, he felt her passion tightening her. She seemed to be winding as slowly as a casually wound watch spring.
Her voice seemed to tighten, too, to raise in pitch as she approached release. She was whining, her hands raked his back. Then without warning she screamed and her grip on him tightened. Her whole body arched up toward him.
He had thought it impossible, but her chest was touching his, her head completely back, twisting from side to side. Although he tried, he could not keep up the pace, and held his cock deep in her.
Her cunt seemed to close on him more tightly than ever.
Slowly she relaxed and collapsed back on the floor. Her face was soft, seemed more fleshy than it had been, a grin widened the bottom of her face, and her eyes were normal again, watching him intently.
"Well?" she asked. "Are you ready now."
"Ready?"
"Yes. Thank you, by the way."
"Oh. Sure." For a moment he felt a thrill of worry. She didn't want to talk now, surely? He just wanted to keep on fucking her. No talk.
"Hey?"
"Yes?"
"Don't stop. But why don't you fuck me in the ass now."
"Well ... "
"Go ahead. If you've never done it before, it's all right. You won't have any problem. Not you." That reassured him, and he smiled at her. Carefully he pulled away and brought his cock carefully out. She wriggled around so that she could get some fingers into her cunt.
She brought out wet, slick fingers and worked them slowly into her ass-hole.
"Now you," she said. "Go ahead, wet down that tight brown hole."
Damn, he thought, she certainly knows how to keep my interest up. Kneeling, half-sitting on his haunches, he probed her slippery pussy with his fingers, gathering up the slightly sticky come with care not to scrape her with his fingernails.
Then, still amazed, he worked those fingers into her ass-hole; spreading the come like a salve. She was cooing at him; talking lowly in words he couldn't quite make out.
His cock felt twice as hot as it should be in the relative coolness of the air. It was drying a little bit still stiff with the need to pound into her until she cried out again.
With the need, too, to pound until all this stiff need turned to softening, liquid, hot release. Oliver was torn between the desire to burst free and the urge to keep fucking as long as the woman had fluid to produce.
After a couple of forays with his fingers, the ass-hole seemed wet enough to try. She was relaxing, too, letting him probe her tighter channel.
"Stick your cock back in my cunt, get it wet, again, slosh around in there, then slam into my ass. It doesn't matter if it hurts."
"You'd rather I hurt, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, go ahead, hurt me!" she said, in an intense, quiet whisper. "Fuck my ass until I bleed."
Her talk was exciting him. The very thought of screwing that much tighter little hole was tensing him, teasing his cock, and her quiet whispering made it worse-or better, depending how you look at it.
Stroking her wet cunt was reflex action, so preoccupied was he with the idea of screwing her ass. He felt at home in this wider, but quite exciting cunt. Now her ass-hole would be a new entry to her body. In his freer fantasies he had never imagined fucking so much or so wildly in one 24-hour period.
When he started to pull out she slipped away from him quickly. Startled, he jerked back. Had she changed her mind? She was grabbing a pillow from the couch. After she had flipped over onto her stomach, she jammed the pillow under, raising her skinny haunches.
Lifting her legs closer to her chest brought her cheeks far apart. She used her hands as a sort of pillow, to cushion her head. Lying like that, she looked something like a frog.
So he would fuck an old, whitened frog. Only her skin was softer than a frog. And she had hair. But once he had begun, he would close his eyes and maybe the fantasy would come back.
Right now he was about to screw the ass of a skinny old lady who had the miraculous power of keeping his lust at a high pitch. After just a minute's hesitation, he used a hand to guide his prick to the round muscled hole, then, gathering his strength, jammed it into her.
She made a sound of pleasure as he did. Through the sudden fog of sensation he heard the sound and felt satisfaction there. But he was busy sucking his breath sharply between his teeth, gasping with the delight of this tight hole.
Here was a hole as tight as any girl's cunt he had ever known. Carol and this bitch had shown him that women got bigger as they grew older, though that did not take away from the pleasure of fucking them. Now he knew how old women could keep their hot-blooded studs happy.
He tried to stop himself from thinking. Sure, it keeps you hard longer, but this sweet bitch didn't seem to need much more fucking. Though she certainly enjoyed it, he could relax now, and let his load burst out of his cock.
She was moving her hands, letting her head rest at an awkward angle, and she moved now so that her hands were touching her cunt. Watching, with half of his mind he imagined her fingers carefully stroking the small bud of her clit, while the rest of his mind concentrated on the flow of feeling that surged from his cock.
If it were possible to fuck a Coke bottle it couldn't be much tighter than this. He had to push hard in order to get in as far as, with her cunt, what would be a smooth stroke. Coming out created incredible suction, working to keep his cock deep in her.
It wasn't going to take long. His body was tensing; of his own will he held the start of his climax to the sharp, bright feeling that seemed to burn the base of his cock
Then he gave in to let the heavy load of his desire spurt up her ass. A long time he let his climax take him far inside himself. Gradually he came to the realization that his cock was jammed tightly into her ass while the rest of him was collapsed around her thin body.
She was still moving, working her cunt with her fingers, maybe with her whole hand. Her movements were carefully controlled, but she did not hesitate because his weight was on her.
With a sudden short spasm she came again, making no noise. Her muscles worked and her ass with them. To his amazement she seemed to be milking his cock. It was happening-but he could barely feel the trickle of thinner fluid leave his cock.
"Pull out, please," she asked, "your cock is itchy for some reason." He smiled. "Got the itch for me, have you?" She giggled.
"Will you pull that fucking cock out of my ass-hole, please."
"Sure. You know, that didn't seem to hurt." She sighed.
"I've been fucking people with my ass for a long, long time kid."
"But you were so tight. Wouldn't that stretch you?"
"It did."
"But."
"Wait until you fuck a virgin ass, then you'll know."
He said nothing.
"There are some benefits to being a virgin anything," she said. "Some day you'll be old, too, and you'll have tried everything."
What could he say? He was suddenly too tired to try thinking of anything to say. It was unnecessary, anyway.
Dressed, they sat in the kitchen, The Platinum Bitch made tea and perched on a stool across from him, sipping it carefully. Now that he had the chance, he was studying her.
Around her eyes there were definite signs of age; lines that even care and good makeup could not hide. Her hands, too, were lined. He noticed how each pink nail was carefully polished and cut the same length.
She sat straight with her head high. That must help to keep the wrinkles from lining her throat. Her bare arms showed a touch of flab, a bit of looseness at the tops. When she was dressing he had noticed the same thing at the tops of her thighs.
Other than that, she seemed to be in fine shape. Awfully thin but otherwise fine. Until this moment of quiet they had talked casually back and forth; he found her quite aware of the changes in the world and of it's present state.
Both of them lifted their heads as a car pulled into the driveway. After a minute its doors slammed, then the sound of footsteps on the gravel.
Carol and Georgie came in the door chattering busily, dumping packages on the couch.
Oliver watched Carol look in their direction and smile as she saw the two of them.
"Hello, Mother, Oliver," she said. "I knew you were here as soon as I saw a strange car in the driveway."
She walked toward them. Oliver was still swallowing his surprise, trying not so seem shocked. "Where did you get that car? Another new one!"
"Reggie. He's rather extravagant. When the Fiat broke down he said to just forget it. He doesn't like to repair things."
"Carol..." Oliver began. She looked at him questioningly. He smiled uncertainly. "Hello."
She smiled back at him radiantly.
"Hello," she answered. Then her attention went back to her mother.
"Maybe he was just jealous that Father gave you an Alfa Romeo. How do you know he didn't do something to the Alfa?"
"I'm sure he did. The garage said it was a clear case of ... mischief."
"Well, what did he give you?"
"A Triumph." She laughed. "British engineering, my God! But it can make some quick little moves when I want it to."
Carol smiled, and nodded.
"So that's three of your own; cars, I mean," Georgie said.
"Yes. One is mine, the Fiat, one Carol's father got for me, and the Triumph, of course. There's the Rolls, or the Jag, when we get racy."
"You're seeing a lot of Reggie ... " Carol began.
"Yes, Carol, I know. I suppose you want to know if I'm planning on leaving your father."
"Well . ... "
"Well, I'm not. I told you two years ago I was tired of all that sort of game, and I meant it. I will fuck around all I choose, but I won't leave your father again." The Platinum Bitch could be quite calm and cold when she so chose ... but she was smiling, too.
"It's quite tiring to leave him, my dear," she continued. "I always go back. He knows I'll come back and doesn't even bother to send for me." Her smile widened. "He's still the best, most consistently good lover I've ever had. Besides being the richest. It took me two years of careful strategy to get him and I've had him thirty years now; why should I toss that over for some vain, middle-age bore?"
Carol's face changed expression suddenly. Her eyes shifted to Oliver, then back to her mother. Not in front of the children, she seemed to be saying. But....
"And this child, no matter how wonderfully enticing, is not about to forsake all and spend all of his time with an old bitch like me. And what else would he do? Some of these young ones, except for the artists and musicians, have no concept of how to fill their time."
Georgie laughed suddenly, loudly. Her good-natured merriment seemed to lighten the mood and to automatically change the subject.
"Let me show you what I got," Georgie said. "She, Carol," with a nod in her direction, "spends tons of money, but she got some of the most gorgeous things I've seen in a long time. Silky, sexy things. Wait, Oliver, you'll see."
"Georgie!" the Platinum Bitch said, playfully.
Oliver sat back bored as they began to show off the wares of their expedition.