Chapter 3
Katherine could hardly face her family, and the hated, strange girl who had invaded it, the next morning at breakfast. The things she had seen the night before, and the terrible odd thing she had done to herself in her crazed delirium, seemed like something out of an old, almost forgotten dream, a nightmare whose memory crept with eerie surrealism into the present. But she knew it was real.
What she could hardly believe was that they seemed not the least bit ashamed about it, not at all worried about what she might think. Of course they should have had no reason to suspect that she had heard and seen them. But the mere fact that they had done it in her house, so close to her, should have shown on their faces, she thought. But nothing showed. Tom seemed almost his old self and displayed none of the bitterness toward Katherine she had detected in his voice last night when she'd first gone out into the hallway to listen to them. He was going into town to see some of his old friends, whom he was confident he would find at their old hang out at the pool hall. He was anxious to see them and in the best of spirits, and he displayed an appetite comparable to the one he used to have when he played high school football. His mother found it hard to believe he was the same young boy she'd seen last night, kneeling like a slave between the blonde's spread legs, licking hungrily at the wetly throbbing slit of her silken-haired cunt.
Lys had an air of guiltlessness and contentment that vexed Katherine terribly. It exuded from her, like the sexuality, a mood of innocence and joy that Katherine felt mocked her in her own guilt and disgust. Worse, she had to admit this morning that the girl was beautiful. She was wearing a man's shirt, tied up in a knot just below her breasts, and no brassiere so that their wide full shape could be clearly seen, the nipples hardened by the material brushing over them, easily distinguished. Her skin-tight levis out-lined the curvaceous swells of her buttocks and the provocative "V" of her crotch, and hung low on her hips, far below the dark hole of her navel, adorned by that silken peach-fuzz hair bleached by the sun that had turned her skin golden, almost bronze. And still the lewd sexuality radiated from her. Every movement she made, very look in her eyes evoked images that recalled the scene Katherine had witnessed last night. She and her husband, Paul, got involved in a conversation, and though Tom seemed unruffled it looked to Katherine as though she were trying now to come on to her boyfriend's father. The way she smiled at him, touched his hand as she tried to make a point in her conversation, the way she threw her shoulders back and arched her bosom in his face all of it seemed to Katherine as an open invitation. But she decided that was absurd. Her "hang ups", as Lys had called them last night, must have caused her imagination to get carried away. That was too much for her to suspect.
Though she didn't look forward to the errand she had to run in Albuquerque that morning, Katherine was almost relieved to have an excuse to leave the house and not have to confront the participants in last night's horrible scene. And maybe, she tried to tell herself, it wasn't really that bad. Maybe if she had a little time to herself she would feel better. She left the dishes for later, said a curt goodbye and took Paul's Ford and left.
Three miles past town the car began to veer and she realized she had a flat. She pulled off the road and got out to check. It was the right rear. While she was waiting for someone to come by she could stop for help, the right front started going down also.
Paul Beauchamp sat at the kitchen table and drank a third cup of coffee while he watched his young son's girlfriend clean up the morning dishes. His son had done goddamn well for himself to the extent that beyond what he supposed was a father's natural pride, he was envious. And he knew that as long as Tom was with this girl he would never have to appreciate the hell of living with, and in spite of it loving, a woman who was as frigid as his mother.
But there was something vaguely disquieting about his feelings as he watched her stand at the sink, her back to him, and wash the dishes. The flimsy shirt distinctly out-lined the soft curves of her shoulders. Beneath her arms he could just glimpse the sides of her full breasts. Above the levis and beneath where the shirt was tied up there were eight or nine inches of bronzed, bare flesh, the curve of her back gently swayed, the fine line of her spine deeply indented. Just above the low-hanging pants he could see two deep dimples and in the tight levis the hems of her panties stretched tight and high on her smoothly rounded young buttocks. And hanging down from her head almost to where he knew the top of the tight little anal crevice should begin was her fleecy, golden hair.
All these years of living with Katherine, of finding only rarely the satisfying experience a man needed with some strange woman he managed to pick up, had done nothing to dull Paul Beauchamp's sexual appetite. Strangely, he did still love his wife. And he loved his son and was happy for him, happy he'd found such a good looking young woman and one who obviously would do whatever she had to to satisfy her man in bed. He was glad the thoughts now going through his own mind, the fantasies he was having about this golden-haired nymphet, were only dreams. He took security in the fact that though her almost every move, and every look she'd given him as they were talking earlier at the breakfast table, seemed to be a flagrant sexual invitation to him, it meant nothing. It was just her way. Just part of her young adolescent charm.
Lys finished drying the dishes and turned back to the table. She smiled down at him with a splendid combination of bashfulness and sexuality. After a moment's hesitation she sat down across from him. Paul's eyes dropped from her face to her breasts, then to the patch of exposed, sun-tanned skin at her belly. Then he looked up suddenly, embarrassed, and coughed nervously. The back of his neck was burning and he could feel the sweat beneath his arms.
But her smile hadn't changed and she hadn't taken her eyes from him. And she seemed unperturbed by the silence that for Paul had become extremely uncomfortable. It seemed strange now that only a short time ago, with the cushion of Katherine and Tom's presence, they'd been talking easily about topics that ranged from camping to the idiosyncrasies in the way Mexicans in New Mexico spoke the Spanish language.
"Have you known Tom long?" he managed to blurt finally, though that question under the circumstances seemed somehow as banal as two old maids discussing a celebrity at a bus stop.
And she seemed to wait, to let that banality sink in, before she answered still without changing the tone of her smile, with a slight, suggestive shrug: "I met him at an orgy party and we hit it off right away."
Paul coughed again. He could hardly believe he'd heard her right. Though he knew he had. And he didn't know how she expected him to respond to it or what from a more general viewpoint that response should be. Again he felt envy that his son should have been to an orgy; he'd never been to one himself of course, and it seemed quite feasible that he never would. And he felt like an old fogy, completely out of tune with the times. And still, with the envy, he felt a father's pride.
"Does that shock you?"
"NO!" he said almost too quickly. And he knew he was flushing.
"We've been together almost two months," she said, and added: "And I guess we'll stay together a long time. I think we fit."
Somehow that made him feel better, quelled to an extent the idea that had entered his mind. He downed the last sip of his coffee and lit a cigarette, avoiding her with his eyes.
"I think I'm going to take a shower," she said.
"Fine."
He looked back at her. The smile had gone and now she was watching him intently, almost seriously. Again, his remark sounded silly after he'd said it.
Gradually it became apparent she was waiting for something else before she did go to shower. She still sat, watching him in that same disquieting way. Perhaps though she'd already learned where the main bathroom was situated, she still expected to be shown there. Perhaps she wanted him to get her a towel.
Once this possibility had entered his mind, he moved almost too fast. Awkward and impulsive, he felt like a clumsy bear. He muttered something about how stupid he'd been, let him get her a towel, and got up and started out of the kitchen. He sensed her presence behind him and felt certain she was laughing at him inwardly.
The bath, like the rest of the Beauchamp's home, was done luxuriously with the Spanish influence that dominates the architecture in that part of New Mexico. It was spacious with a high ceiling and a small, high window. The tiles of the wall looked not like bath tiles but the tiles on the walls in old Mexican houses. The shower itself was situated over the bathtub, which would have been large enough for two people to lounge in easily.
Paul clicked on the light for Lys and got her a towel from the cupboard. When he turned back to her he was surprised to see she'd already started unbuttoning her shirt, and he couldn't help an instant's staring at the small luscious breasts, the inner halves of them exquisitely exposed. Then he looked quickly away and with a trembling hand gave her the towel. She took it, leaving the shirt to hang loose on her breasts, held only by the knot beneath them. She was still watching him in that same disquieting way. Stumbling, he turned and made an awkward exit. He still felt she must be laughing at him.
It must have been the absence of the sound of the door closing that caused him to stop halfway down the hall and look back. What he saw caused a shock, and a surge of lurching sexual excitement in his loins that almost drove him mad.
She'd left the door open. Whether or not that was intentional he couldn't know, but in any event it was wide open. She had her back to the door. The shirt lay on the floor at her feet. He didn't know whether she knew he was watching or not. Almost, he didn't care. The flesh of her nudely exposed back was the loveliest he thought he'd ever seen: evenly hued golden, unbroken beneath the shoulder blades where the white line of a bikini top would have been expected. Against the bare, deeply tanned flesh her almost three feet of golden hair looked even more fleecy, and the curves of her shoulders, the shadows beneath her arms where he glimpsed her breasts, the thin narrow waist and those dimples above her curvaceous little buttocks he'd seen earlier drove him to a frenzy of desire.
Then, as he stood watching her, with his breath coming in sudden harsh gusts, she undid the tight levis and wriggled out of them, slowly and sensuously peeling them off her flesh as if they were of an outer layer of skin, causing Paul's desire to spiral toward a pinnacle with each new inch of the golden flesh she exposed.
At last, her velvety, cleft buttocks bared, she dropped the levis and her panties with them to her ankles. Then just as slowly and sensuously as she peeled them from her hips, she bent down to work one pants leg off an ankle, thrusting her buttocks up in the air with the movement, causing them to spread slightly so he could see the small dark circle of her tiny puckered anus, then below it the thin curling strands of her sparse young pussy hair and the juicy pink slit of her naked cuntal lips. Her buttocks were the same even golden tanned color as the rest of her body.
Paul swallowed hard, afraid she would turn suddenly and see him lewdly staring at her, yet still unable to draw his eyes away. Then she stepped out of the other pants leg, straightened up and did turn, almost profiled to him; but giving no sign that she'd seen him she stepped out of his sight into the shower.
by the time he got back to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee from the pot, now lukewarm, on the stove, Paul's heart was pounding so fast he thought his chest would burst. He'd broken out in a feverish sweat and his breath was quick and hoarse. In his trousers he could feel his cock, swollen to its full size, straining uncomfortably against the material of his shorts. He reached down and arranged it so it pointed upward in a better, less tantalizing fit.
Paul could hardly believe what he'd just seen. It seemed incredulous that the girl could have just forgotten to close the bathroom door, that her exposure of her golden body had been accidental.
But he knew he couldn't surmise the obvious meaning. That was unthinkable. He concluded that the thing that had just happened must be another product of the changing times. Nudity probably meant little or nothing to her generation. Perhaps in itself it wasn't an offer of sex. Perhaps she had not even thought he would look at her, or had not presumed he would draw what for him were the only obvious conclusions if he did.
Again he remembered what she'd said, that she'd met Tom at an orgy. And she'd said that with the nonchalance she might have applied in saying she had met him at a cocktail party. And she said they'd hit it off. That could mean only one thing. He wondered how many other young girls his son had fucked that night before her turn with Tom. The thought of it, the images that flashed in his mind of a number of beautiful women, writhing in the throes of sexual frenzy, dancing nude, fucking madly on the floor beside other madly fucking couples or trios or quartets, and the vision of his son finding Lys in all this madness, getting acquainted by fucking perhaps before they'd even seen each other with their clothing on or knew each other's names, made the waves of longing that were driving him out of his mind even more acute and shattering.
And he could not help but compare that world to his own: the occasional lay with a strange woman, the dull parties with their family friends or his associates at the office, the dull sexual banter between the bored married couples, most of whom deep inside would probably love to tear their clothing off and lose themselves in a wild bacchanal orgy, yet would probably never quite be able to bring themselves to do it; and his occasional romp with his wife, who begrudged him the rare pleasures of a body that though beautiful and alluring as any he'd ever seen was dormant, sexually, still unawakened despite every thing he'd tried. It was a dismal vision, dark pale in comparison to the world he imagined his son must live in when he was away from home.
Paul took a last taste of the coffee and decided he didn't want it. He stood up restlessly, wondering what to do next. He couldn't sit still, and though he would have liked to leave the house for a while, to escape the unthinkable thoughts that had burrowed into his mind, he couldn't. For one thing, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it, to miss out on the possibility of another look at the young blonde's beguiling body. And anyway, he was her host until this afternoon when either Tom or Katherine returned. It would be impolite. And she would probably know he'd left because he was afraid of her.
He walked out of the kitchen and went down the hall, skirting the patio. He hadn't really thought of where he was going, but it was hardly a surprise to him when he found himself back at the entrance of the short corridor that lead to the bathroom door, where moments ago he'd watched Lys undress. What did surprise him was that though he could see her shirt and levis were still lying on the floor where she'd dropped them, the bath was now apparently unoccupied. He couldn't hear the shower running and the light was switched off.
But he was furtive as he crept down the hall. He paused at the door, waging a struggle with himself, frightened that suddenly she would pop from the shower into his view, presuming he'd come to peek on her, yet still unable to resist satisfying himself that in fact she was not in there. After a moment he rallied his courage and stuck his head in with all the caution of a burglar checking a layout. It was empty. Just a trace of steam still hung in the air, and though he thought it must be his imagination, a faint aroma of a woman's freshly washed and perfumed body.
"I'm here," she said behind him.
The voice startled him so much he almost jumped into the tub. Then, red-faced with embarrassment, he turned to see Lys standing at the entrance to the corridor, a damp white towel clutched loosely around her body which glistened with moisture, her breasts scarcely concealed at the top of it, her upper thighs and a few golden tufts of silky-moistened pubic hair revealed at the bottom between her legs.
"II thought you must have finished and ... " She laughed at him, causing her unencumbered breasts to jostle tantalizingly. Flustered, he tried to think of something to say. Unable, he felt a futile anger welling in him.
"Don't be so uptight," she said.
"Well, I just ... "
"I said don't be so uptight."
She smiled at him, warmly, a smile that seemed to say she understood that he was a man with all a man's natural instincts and what he'd just appeared to be doing was almost to be expected. But that only increased his embarrassment.
"I was in the patio. You get the sun out there and I thought I might lay down for a while." Then she lowered her head, almost closing her eyes, yet looking with them up at him from beneath the lashed lids. "You're looking a little pale yourself. Why don't you come with me?"
"I don't think ... "
"Come on. A little sun might help calm your nerves too."
Paul wrenched his eyes from her body he'd been staring again, too intently and shifted weight uncomfortably.
"Yes. I guess that ... wouldn't be a bad idea. Let me get my swim trunks."
She laughed again and turned and started toward the patio. Below the towel he could just see the rounded underhalves of her glistening, wet buttocks. After several steps she looked back over her shoulder. Are you kidding? This is the twentieth century. Just bring a quilt or something."
During the instant that followed that statement, as Lys rounded the corner and went out of his sight, Paul thought his whole life flashed before his eyes not a linear vision: circular, the present and the distant past interwoven, his life with Katherine, the first awful night they'd been to bed together and he'd lost the rubber in her, the miserable sheepish aftermath to that and then her learning she was pregnant and their hastily announced engagement and on their wedding night that second even more disastrous time in bed with her when he'd had to force himself on her and realized she was frigid; after that, the years stretched out, Tom being born and growing up, the other women he'd had, the other frustrating nights with Katherine. All now muddled together as if in a swirling dream. He went to the storage closet and got a quilt, a thick soft comforter that would be soft enough to lay on even on the hard tile floor of the patio. That was at least his unconscious admission that what would happen next would be as much his responsibility as hers. But he didn't consciously admit that. He told himself, even as he selected that thick quilt because he knew it would be soft enough to fuck on, that he had to keep his head and remember that this was his own eighteen year old son's girlfriend he was going to be lying naked beside.
She was standing in the center of the patio when he got there, the sun playing on her damp body that was still barely concealed by the wet towel that clung to her lush curves. She gazed into the light of the sun, taking a deep, sexy breath and squinting her eyes. Then she turned and looked at him, standing and waiting and holding the quilt. Her eyes dropped below his waist and he moved the quilt over to conceal the erection he knew she could see bulging in his trousers, and again she laughed.
"Aren't you going to spread it?" she said, mocking him with her voice.
Reluctantly almost he flapped the quilt out and bent to spread it on the tile floor. Again she looked openly at the tent of his throbbing erection. Then with a motion reminiscent of a ballet dancer beginning a pirouette she flung the towel suddenly off her to reveal her naked body beneath, the breasts shining with beads of water that looked like sweat, the nipples immediately swelling from contact with air. Her belly was thin and smooth, the faintest outline of muscle beneath the near transparent looking flesh, that flawlessness of structure only attained by women who practice yoga or some similar exercise. Below, between her slender, tanned thighs, the blond pubic hair was sparse, twisted in spirals of dampness that revealed her pink little clitoris and the beginning of her inviting vaginal slit.
Now she did pirouette very slowly, her arms stretched above her head to arch her flawless breasts as though in gesture of worship to the sun that beamed on her. The turn completed, she paused facing him.
Again her eyes dropped to his crotch. "Aren't you going to get naked like me?" Her tongue flicked out of her mouth to wet her lips in distinct suggestion.
"I ... I guess so."
Clumsily he started to unbutton his shirt. She dropped to her knees, smoothing the quilt, then stretched out languidly, her body in a pose of open surrender, her eyes focused on him as he removed the clothing from his still fit, athletic body.
At last he pulled off his trousers and shorts, causing his hard cock to bend downward and then spring tautly back upward, and dropped awkwardly to his knees and stretched out beside her. For a moment he lay in tense silence, listening to her soft breathing beside him. As a reflex, he stiffened his genital muscles and his cock bobbed. She giggled.
"It's beautiful," she purred, leaning toward him. "Why are you so embarrassed about it?"
"I'm not embarrassed."
She lay a hand on his belly and did a little tickling dance with her fingers.
"You look embarrassed. Your face is all red and you're afraid to look me in the eye. And except for the signals I'm getting from mat enormous pole of a thing, you hardly seem appreciative of my body."
"You're Tom's girlfriend. My own son's girl. We shouldn't even be lying here like this, talking like this. And you know it."
"Do you know it?"
The question took him back. He jerked his head toward her and the vision of her beautiful nakedness, the long hair draped over her shoulders and spread loosely like a long veil over her wide round breasts and silken belly almost to the exquisite blonde banner of her pubis, caused a renewal of his surging want.
"What ... ?"
"Do you know that? Do you really know that: that we shouldn't be here like this? Or is it just an attitude handed down from generations of darkness, that you've never questioned and that has no basis in the way things really are?"
"I don't know what you mean," he blurted, jerking his eyes defensively from her.
"Do you know that since we've been together, Tom has had even more strange girls than I have boys?"
"I wouldn't know."
"And I've had a lot of them, almost everyone I've seen that was special enough one way or another for me to want them. And once you open your eyes, you see there are a lot of special people in this world. And Tom understands me and I understand him."
He grunted. 'Well I don't think hell understand this."
"I didn't say we don't get jealous. If we quit being jealous, that would be the end of it. Tom can get into a rage you wouldn't believe from just a little thing like seeing me be fucked by a stranger and enjoying it. And the last time I caught him in bed, with two other girls, I got so jealous and at the same time so excited I almost wet my pants." She paused, laughing gaily, and added: "But that's what makes life fun for us, and what keeps us together and interested in each other: the competition. The fact that we both always know we always have to be in our top form and do our best for the other one to keep them around."
Once more she paused, as if to give the wisdom of this time to sink in. Then she said in a voice that was changed, gusty and wanton: "Do you want me to suck your cock?"
He felt it throb. A muffled meaningless sound popped from his throat. He swallowed hard and without looking at her nodded.
"Do you? Say it."
"Yes," he croaked.
"Say the words."
"Yes. I want you to suck my cock. God yes! How could I not want you to do it!"
"Then put it in my mouth. Or grab my hair or my head and push my mouth down on it. Show me you're a man and mean it!"
The rage streaked through him like fire. For an instant, as he watched her almost mocking young face, her narrowed eyes and her pursed, wet lips, it seemed he couldn't move. She licked her lips again and once more looked down at his hardened penis. Then suddenly he found control of his muscles and lunged upward, rolling on her and pushing her onto her back, his hands mauling her breasts and shoulders, then pinning her arms as he straddled her chest and dragged his hard pulsating maleness up her body, between the hard, vibrant breasts and thrust it without mercy as deep as it would go into her already willing open young mouth.
Beneath him on the quilt he felt her body recoil, her head retreating down into the softness of the comforter. He heard a deep gurgling sound issue from her throat and felt her lips oval themselves tightly about his hard maleness, her tongue flicking in a wet teasing circular motion about the heavily throbbing shaft. For what must have been a full minute he ground his cock down into her mouth ruthlessly, fucking between her lipstick rimmed young lips with no more tenderness than were it a cunt in which he was on the verge of climaxing. His ass cheeks smashed her voluptuous breasts hard into her chest and below, with his foot pressed between her thighs he could feel a brushing of the soft hair of her cunt between her legs as her body began to writhe excitedly beneath him.
Then gradually he slacked off with the vicious thrusting and began to snake his cock gently in and out of her mouth; then even that ceased as the delicate sucking and the caress of her lips and tongue on his maleness caused his anger to abate. At last he withdrew it and slid down her body, settling between her already widely parted, waiting thighs.
He kissed her on the lips that only moments ago he'd assaulted with his cock, and beneath him she twisted her velvety body, crushing it up against him. She put her arms around him and ran her hands eagerly over him. She squirmed as his cock brushed the most tender flesh of her inner thighs, tickled the softly curling pubic hairs and began to nudge at the slowly moistening little slit of her cunt. Then she arched her hips, lifting both of them off the quilt with a surprising strength for her supple build, and Paul rested his weight on one elbow and slid his other hand beneath their bodies, down the hot flesh of her belly and through the resilient soft pussy hair, onto the top of the thinly pulsating crevice of her cunt. She dropped her body back onto the quilt and nibbled tenderly at his neck with her teeth.
His cock still prodding at her thighs, he thrust his finger deeper into the slick wet walls of her surprisingly tight cunt. She whimpered, again squirming beneath him, as deeper and deeper the finger wiggled, and tightened her thighs about his waist.
She kissed him on the lips and began to claw at his back, her hips now twitching furiously against the probing of his finger. Then she jerked her body and sobbed wantonly: "Come on, Paul! Fuck me now! Don't wait any longer."
As she jerked about wildly he withdrew his finger and repositioned himself between her warm, desperately grasping thighs. For a moment his cock prodded off course, nudging her first above the wet and ready slit, then below on the tiny muscle between her cunt and her asshole. Then she reached down frantically with her own hand, between his buttocks and thighs, and seized his cock and guided it surely to her. A moan of ecstasy or pain issued from her just as the large, rubbery head spread wide the thin elastic lips of her naked young pussy and entered. Then, as it wormed deeper up inside her tiny, excitedly contracting belly, she screamed as though in exquisite torture, her body shuddering and writhing, her breath coming in tormented, strained gasps.
At last he felt the initial resistance of her cunt give way, felt her vaginal lubricants come rushing down around his shaft, slickening it and making it slide easily to her hot, grasping depths. Her scream died away to a soft purring sound. Her writhing faded to subtle twitching. Then for a moment they were both motionless except for the soft caress of her hands on his thighs moving slowly toward his buttocks. Then she began to squirm again, grinding her pelvis up against him so their loins were a tight fit, her hands beginning to forcefully knead the firm flesh of his powerfully driving asscheeks.
To his increasingly desperate downward thrusts she worked her body wildly, moaning and sobbing as if to punctuate her movements. He lifted his head so he could look down on her face, which was now contorted wildly with pleasure, the long hair spread out and tousled on the quilt, her mouth open and her eyes closed in tightly clenched slits. Gone was that mocking air that had challenged and so perturbed him before. She was caught up now in the wild sexually erotic pleasure he was evoking in her deeply impaled young body. She had totally surrendered to him. He was on topboth ways.
He slid his hand beneath her buttocks, pushing it into the softly dividing crevice between and flicking his finger across the bottom of her vagina where his enormous cock now rhythmically fucked in and out of her. He caught a few droplets of her excitedly flowing moisture with his finger and spread them backward over the tight, tiny asshole, poised the tip of his middle finger at its entrance, then wormed it up into the first knuckle into the vainly resisting tightness. She shuddered, the sound of her moaning changing to indicate pain. But she did not resist or protest as he inched it slowly, relentlessly inward, feeling the tiny puckered little hole seem to open or stretch reluctantly, the resistance giving way gradually. Then he thrust it in swiftly, the last inch up to his knuckle, and in retreat she ground her hips up violently against him, screaming in pain and pleading with him.
Then a deep sigh escaped her and she sank her buttocks back on the finger, her experienced young vaginal muscles tightening hungrily around the shaft of his cock and holding it for a moment deep within her, then beginning to wiggle up and down crazily as he withdrew and thrust it violently. He began a long series of lunges, racking her small body with buttock shattering strokes, timing the rapid in and out movement of his finger in her asshole with the heavily driving rhythm of his cock in her cunt. Her moaning became a scream; her movements suddenly like a wave of fluttering under him. She clawed at his buttocks with her hands, a frantic response to the waves of orgasm that surged through her nakedly jerking young body beneath him.
He let her orgasm pass until she was just twitching, pleading flesh beneath him, and continued, concentrating on his own build up even as she sobbed for rest. Then his movements prompted her to new desire and she began to respond again, even more fervently and deliciously than before, as though maddened by her ecstasy and driven to a delirium that gave her greater and greater strength. Her cunt spasmed; it was as though its lips were like the lips of a small bearded mouth, alternately nibbling and biting. Deep inside he felt the caress of her inner pussy muscles like the dexterous licking of a tongue. He'd never in his life fucked anybody like this, and again he felt he should offer his congratulations to his son. But if he'd felt guilty before, that was now gone. Nobody, should have the right to exclude the rest of the world from a wild little piece of tail like this.
"Yes! Oh God, fuck me!" she screamed suddenly. "Fuck me harder. Fuck me harder."
Thoughts left his mind, he drifted in his own world of bliss and delirium, feeling his cock grow even larger, driving up to the inner reaches of her pelvis now, feeling the first waves of what would be momentarily his own extended rush toward climax. Beneath him Lys continued to moan and scream, unintelligible sounds and obscenities and words of pleading for him to reach an even greater pinnacle of thrusting passion.
She rolled backward on her shoulders, kicking her legs up in the air and thrusting her loins openly up at his driving pelvis, making a slick straight sheet of her cunt that he could fuck into more smoothly. He further increased the ferocity of his strokes, his loins making a flat fleshy slapping sound on her buttocks as if he were spanking her.
Then suddenly a shudder coursed through her body.
"Ooooh God, Paul! I'm going to cum again!" she wailed, her nails tearing at his back.
A low cry formed in her throat and spiralled upward, a piercing scream, out of her mouth. Her thighs clamped tight about his back and her ankles drummed frantically on his hips. He worked his finger forcibly; through the thin fleshy membrane that separated anus from vagina and was able to tighten the caresses of her cunt walls on his cock. He lowered his head and kissed the nipple of one of her breasts, then bit down so hard on it to cause a break in her cry as she moaned aloud and sucked in her breath.
Then he ceased his own control, letting his strokes become swift and wild, without coordination, sheer fury as he felt the cum well up in him, spiral upward and go spewing hotly into her greedily welcoming young vagina.
Gradually his movements slackened, and at last he was lying motionless upon her. He kissed her gently on the lips as he slipped his finger softly out of her still tightly clenched rectum and caressed her buttocks, slick and wet with the warm white liquid of both their orgasms. He grinned triumphantly above her and flexed his penis deep up inside, causing her body to writhe gently beneath him.
A moment later he withdrew his rapidly deflating cock from her sperm flooded young vagina and rolled over onto his back. He lay panting beside her. Though his own eyes were closed, he could feel hers were on him. And he knew they now lacked that challenging smile they had had before he fucked her. She was grateful, as women invariably are after several orgasms.
He felt her hand touch his belly, move down to caress his flaccid cock. It tingled, at first almost unpleasantly, too sensitive on the still pulsating tip. Then he felt it respond and begin to harden again. Lys kissed him on the chest and slid atop him, straddling his loins and positioning his penis upright, lowering her desire slickened young pussy easily down onto it.