Chapter 4

Amy had almost forgotten the disgusting little ditty they used to taunt her with, "Amy loves it everyday; Amy loves it every way." The rest seemed unimportant, for what mattered at the moment was the old adage, like father like son. And since she had succeeded in seducing Chuck, Amy now turned her sexual attentions to the well-hung teenager's father, hoping that Blake Clayton would prove to be an even more virile and sexually sophisticated and responsive version of his son.

She would have enjoyed trying him out the following day, but as things turned out she had to wait until the end of the week. Blake was busy in the city with his agent for two days and during this time Amy got a chance to become better acquainted-emotionally, not sexually-with Joan and Cindy, his wife and daughter.

As for Chuck, a scheduled camping trip with two high school friends of his curtailed any additional "lessons" in bed, much to her chagrin. So by the time Blake was back to his normal working schedule, Amy was as horny as if she had been denied the pleasure of sex for weeks or even months.

She had a feeling that if he didn't make a move, or bring sex into the discussion and their workaday frame of reference, she would end up attacking him, unable to stop herself. She was a girl who understood the way her body worked, the way it responded to a man's sheer physical presence.

And having never lost out, having never failed to snare a man who turned her on, she didn't have any doubts that now, once she was alone with her new boss, she would win him over as she had won over men in the past.

It was, she would see later, even easier than she had dared to imagine. Blake was the kind of man who didn't like to be pressured or seduced. For him, women were meant to be more passive than aggressive. He was the king, the lion, the tiger. Women served to prove to him again and again his own masculinity, something of course which Amy hadn't doubted from the moment she had laid eyes on the man.

But he didn't get off when a chick was too pushy, throwing herself on him and demanding that he rape and ravish their bodies. Amy came to this conclusion within an hour after she had started her work, her duties having been carefully explained to her and mapped out the day she had been hired as research assistant.

Thankfully, Joan was off in her studio working on a batch of illustrations for the children's picture book they were in the midst of preparing. It was above the garage alongside of the house and she had learned Blake's wife's working habits well enough to know that Joan got so immersed in her work that she rarely if ever emerged from her studio for the bulk of the day, only quitting an hour or so before she had to start preparing dinner in the late afternoon.

And now that Amy was around to help her, as was Cindy, she was taking advantage of her lightened work load. Cindy was at a friend's house and Amy and Blake were alone in the study. He was dictating some dialogue with her and she sat on the couch with her legs crossed, trying to concentrate on taking down his words instead of staring too intently at his body.

She had made a point of not wearing panties or even stockings, affecting collegiate knee socks, but nothing in the way of confining or concealing undergarments. Beneath her tweed skirt her crotch was naked, her love nest rubbing against the nubby worsted material.

Her jugs were buoyed up by their own youthful firmness, pressing tautly against her cardigan, a bone-colored Shetland sweater she had buttoned up her back. Already, her body was responding, even as she was forced to concentrate on her work.

Her nipples had grown taut, swelling hotly in sheer response to Blake Clayton's mere physical presence, the close proximity of his body. She still thought he resembled, and remarkably and markedly so, the man she had often seen in her erotic dreams, but now he was becoming more of a real person, as opposed to a spectral visitation.

He had definite habits, a fondness for waving his hands about and gesturing with histrionic insistence, a fondness too for rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet when he spoke to her and recited the childish though skillful narrative she was transcribing onto her pad.

She didn't need shorthand to take it down, for he spoke slowly and distinctly, as if he was a frustrated actor, fond of reciting in public, revealing the ham that lurked underneath his fictional skin. Amy worked diligently, glancing up at him again and again, her eyes boring through his clothes to try to get at the very root of his being, right between his legs.

So what if I know what I want, she told herself. How many girls ever find that out, in their entire lives. I know what I like and I'm glad about it, too.

But there was no need for her to convince herself.

She had no qualms about her sexual needs and desires, no guilt feelings either. The torturing days of drudgery and snickers that had marked her four years at Delancey were behind her now. She was looking forward to the future, not turning her thoughts and metaphorical eyes back to the past.

And the future, at least for now, was with the Claytons.

With this thought in mind, having come to the realization that it was not up to her to make the first move, that Blake was a man used to doing things his own way and at his own natural rhythm, she crossed her legs even higher and slouched down against the back of the leather sofa.

Her skirt rose up above her knees, revealing her creamy-white and supple thigh flesh, shapely and voluptuous, to put it mildly. When does he get turned on? she heard herself saying inside of her head. She hadn't seen anything that even closely resembled a physical and sexual attachment between Blake and his wife since she had moved in. And she hadn't heard the telltale creak of bedsprings, the muted moans and whimpered grunts of sexual congress emanating from behind their bedroom door.

But then again, she realized that she hadn't been listening that carefully or closely, either. Now, she would just have to resort to her own innate feminine cunning and sexual wile. Thinking of this, she shifted position, her skirt rising up several inches higher around her legs. She hoped that if he took the opportunity to glance down, he might even be rewarded with a glimpse of her lush and naked pussy.

And the latter was juicy and twitching with the expectation of pleasure, anticipating the kind of frictioning pressure, the fullness that would be crammed inside of it. Her cunt walls burned with desire and she felt herself blushing involuntarily, barely able to hold the pencil steady, hardly able to concentrate on her work.

"That'll be enough for the time being, Amy," he finally said a few minutes later. "Let's take a coffee break. You take yours with," and he looked up at her even as he moved to the electric percolator plugged into a socket near his desk.

"Light and sweet," she told him as she put down her pad and pencil, stretching her arms above her head and yawning loudly. Her skirt quivered around her trembling haunches and when he moved back to her with a steaming earthenware mug in his hand, she reached out and accepted it with a broad and unabashed grin.

"Thanks a lot, sure could use it," she told him, sipping the coffee as he went to fill his own cup.

"Why, didn't you sleep well last night? Or is your bed lumpy? It's an old mattress, but if you find it hard to get used to I'll see to it that we buy you another one. Don't want you to suffer sleepless nights on my account."

"No, I slept all right, I guess," she told him, casting him an inquisitive gaze and wishing he'd just look down for an instant, just long enough to realize that she didn't have anything on underneath her skirt.

"It could be a low-grade flu, if you have insomnia that is. It's going around, so I've been hearing," he said to her and turned around to lean against the back of the desk, holding his cup in both of his hands.

Immediately, she thought of Chuck. But she couldn't believe the boy had told his father about what had taken place in her room, how she'd taken his temperature and then his virginity, all in one fell swoop.

Yet there was a curiously narrowed look about his eyes and she found herself returning his stare with open admiration, gazing into his dark and piercing eyes even as she sipped her coffee and leaned back against the couch, wishing she could just throw her legs up in the air and be as obvious as that.

Shit, men have all the luck, she thought to herself, for women in this society weren't allowed the pleasure of being aggressive, of taking a man the way men were socially permitted to seduce and take women.

If only she could ... but her thoughts were interrupted as Blake suddenly put down his mug of coffee and dropped down onto the floor. "Exercise time. It's part of my daily routine, since writing's such a sedentary pursuit. This way, I can still keep in shape, even if I have to be at my typewriter most of the day," and leaving her with a look of amusement and astonishment, he stretched out on the floor and began to do sit-ups.

"Need any help?" she asked, all innocence as the muscles swelled tautly beneath his ribbed cotton polo shirt.

"You could hold my ankles down, if you don't mind," he replied. "The carpet's clean, in case you're worried."

"I never worry about dirt. That's what a shower's for," she laughed, moving quickly in front of him. She got down on her knees and pressed her hands on his ankles. Just touching him got her excited and she stared into his eyes as he moved back and forth on the floor.

Each forward motion, his hands pressed firmly behind his head, brought his face ever closer to her head. She wanted him to take her, right then and there, but he must have counted off thirty push-ups before he suddenly winced and cried out.

"What's the matter!" she said in alarm.

Blake's face was contorted with agony. "My ... my back, pulled a muscle," he gasped.

"Turn over. I took a course in first aid," she told him, recalling with a silent laugh that she had given his son the same line a few nights before. Well, she thought, like father like son, urging him over onto his stomach.

Quickly, she moved up into a straddle, surreptitiously lifting her skirt up so that her naked ass rested lightly against the backs of his thighs. And then she leaned forward even as he moaned, her hands expertly kneading the muscles of his back.

He told her where he had pulled it and she worked on the area below his right shoulder, kneading and massaging his flesh, getting more and more turned on by just touching his body. "Oh yes, that's so much better. Beautiful," he whispered appreciatively, making no move to get to his feet.

Rather, he grunted with pleasure, enjoying the massage, the rubdown she was now giving him. And as she got the muscles back into shape, re leasing the cramp his vigorous exercising had caused, her hands began to slide down, even as she purposely rubbed her ass back and forth against his thighs.

He should be doing this to me, she told herself, and then it dawned on her, for she knew he would not tolerate her if she made the first move. Suddenly, she moaned and keeled over onto her side, wrapping one hand around her back.

"What happened?" she heard him say, looking up at her as she lay there with her knees curled up and a look of pain etched convincingly across her face.

"Me ... me too," she whispered. "Silly ... stupid of me, right there," and she motioned with her hand as he moved around without another word, watching her as she turned over onto her stomach, moaning with what sounded like rather convincing pain.

He assumed the same position she had taken, his strong firm hands working on her shoulder as she told him to move further down. He did precisely that, unable to see the smile she had flashed across her lips for a telling second.

"Oh, that's it, again, harder," she whispered, pushing her ass up towards his crotch.

He was straddling her, resting on the backs of his legs, both hands kneading the muscle she had supposedly pulled. But the sounds she was now making bore little if any resemblance to ones of mere muscular relief.

Rather, they sounded decidedly coital in origin and she started to pant, hoping she wasn't carrying on too much. But that answer lay with Blake and what Amy still didn't know was that the man had had his eye on her for just as long as she had wanted him.

He'd been afraid of seducing her with his wife around, afraid too that she might not be ready for the kind of vigorous and uninhibited sex he got off on. But now, he could barely control himself and despite his better intentions, he was fast losing the will power necessary to avoid entangling with Amy Witney.

Just working on her back was having the same effect it had had on her and when his hands slid lower, she smiled to herself and spread her thighs apart, rubbing her legs against his flanks. "Oh do that, yes, that's it, Blake," she whispered, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the forceful and stimulating pressure of his firm and manly hands.

His fingers itched and he glanced at her face. But she had closed her eyes once again and he could not tell what she was thinking. But then, a moment later, he felt the way she was thrusting her hips forward, the material of her tweed skirt clinging revealingly to the smooth rounded cheeks of her succulent rump.

Unable to resist, knowing that the worst thing that could happen was a negative reaction, a suitable rebuff, he moved his hands past her waist and down over the cheeks of her rump. He slid back at the same time, caressing both nether globes, reveling in their warmth and smoothness, despite the nubby worsted which clung to her butt.

And when she only whimpered with what seemed to him to be genuine and perhaps even considerable pleasure, he kept at it, unable and unwilling to stop. It was now or never and he was halfway home, or so he thought to himself.

His fingers probed the rounded swell of her ass and no longer in control of himself, remembering that Joan was in the studio, that Cindy wasn't at home either, he grew more confident and thus more daring, slipping his hands underneath the hem of her skirt to press down against her hot and naked thighs.

Amy knew exactly what had happened, the kind of thoughts going through Blake Clayton's mind. But she didn't want to blow it, and at such a crucial moment such as this. So she kept her eyes closed, whimpering softly, not being aggressive or obvious about her true feelings, the fact that what he was now doing to her was exactly what she had so fervently longed for, what she had lusted after, as well.

His hands slid up past the backs of her thighs, right underneath her skirt until all ten fingers were flat against her rounded buttocks. She trembled but held her tongue, lying there and afraid to look back at him, lest she reveal her own heated excitement.

As for Blake, he was beyond control, something even Amy was yet to discover. Having gone this far, he knew that he would be forced to go all the way, whether she liked it or not. He had to have her and now it had finally come out into the open. So he kept his fingers on her warm tender ass and gently yet insistently massaged her buttocks, rubbing his hands over every inch of her lush and jutting rump.

His fingers explored the narrow and damp anal furrow separating one cheek from the other and then he pulled one hand back and gently lifted up her skirt. It dawned on him then that she wasn't wearing panties, something he hadn't even realized the instant he'd felt her naked ass.

He did what amounted to a classic double-take, smiling lustily to himself and starting to put two and two together. But another furtive glance at her face revealed nothing. Her eyes were still closed, her lips pursed tightly together.

If a chick doesn't bother to put on panties, he thought to himself, trying to figure out what kind of broad she really was.

He didn't have to think too hard about it, either, for she was loving his very touch, moaning more energetically as he grew increasingly confident and sure of himself, certain that the last thing in the world she would now do was turn him away, asking him to stop and leave her alone.

He was absolutely correct in his assumptions.

Amy wanted him to do everything and anything he wanted. Blake kept at it, hauling her skirt slowly up around her waist until her ass was displayed in all its white and succulent beauty, the twin cheeks of her plump and almost juicy rump revealed to his wide and staring eyes.

Needless to say, his body was reacting just as heatedly and excitedly as Amy's was doing. Behind the front of his denim trousers his cock was already filled to the bursting point. It struggled as if it had a will and consciousness all its own, pouching out the front of his slacks.

She didn't dare open her eyes yet, so she was unable to see how turned on he had fast become, struggling to control his raging and animalistic sex drives. His fingers worked more heatedly with each passing second. They rubbed briskly over her buns and then he spread her thighs even wider apart, barely able to see the tuft of dark-blonde cunt fur which marked the bottom edge of her twat.

Her narrow pink outer lips were just about visible, the ragged edges of cunt flesh making his mouth water. Unable to stop himself, no longer in control at all, he suddenly thrust himself forward, grabbed hold of her buns and tore them wildly apart.

Before Amy could even scream out and acknowledge what had taken place in the last few minutes, her entire body convulsed. She shuddered as she felt his long raspy tongue sliding up and down her narrow and sweaty anal furrow, making her tremble with voluptuous and heated sexual desire.

"Ohh, my God, so good," she blurted out, un able to hold back the true state of her emotions.

But he barely heard her, feasting his thick sensual lips upon her scrumptious bum furrow. It gave off a sweaty and musky scent, not at all sour with excrement or gamy in the least. The odors mingled with the aroma of her cunt and the soap she had used to shower with that very morning.

But it was to her unopened blossom that he now directed his feverish touch, licking and circling her bud-like anal aperture with his long and outstretched tongue. To get -rimmed like this, the first thing he had consciously done to her, only made Amy all the more turned on and determined to have him, and in every way imaginable.

She thrust her buns towards his warm wet mouth, his hands clutching her nether globes for support, pulling them as wide apart as he could. His tongue swooped up and down, lavishing her bum furrow and her tight little anus with all manner of affection and attention.

And Amy loved every moment of it, thrilling to the way his tongue felt like a file, rasping up and down, circling her anus and lubricating it with an abundant amount of spittle. This, as it turned out, was only a preamble, a foretaste of the things yet to take place.

For once he had succeeded in loosening her instinctive muscular restraint, once he had moistened and lubricated her asshole until it was fairly swamped with saliva, he tried to drive his tongue right inside the narrow slit-like opening.

It was time for Amy to let him know how much she was getting off on what he was doing, though for the time being she didn't want her boss-and perhaps her soon-to-be lover, so she thought to herself-to think that she was a girl of considerable sexual experience and sophistication.

"Oh, don't, don't do it," she whispered, clenching and then relaxing her ring of anal muscles as he pulled her buns even farther apart, stretching the crevice between them so that he was finally able to see the slick dark-red flesh of her perianus, right at the opening that led down into the depths of her poop.

Her seemingly honest words of protest only fanned his passions and more aroused than ever, he thrust agilely down. Holding his tongue as firmly as he could, he tried to stuff it right inside of her poop, prodding and palpitating her bottomhole and then pistoning his tongue as hard as he could.

Ever so slowly he gained headway, his tongue digging deeper and deeper inside of her hot dry ass. She shuddered as she felt a fresh gush of vaginal dew sluicing down her rippling cunt walls, lubricating her pussy and oozing out to drip onto the carpet, right where she lay stretched out on the floor.

He could sense her excitement and this only made him all the more confident and determined to keep at it, rimming her out, eating out her lush and plump little bottom. Her sweet anal flesh made him drool and he belabored her asshole with his tongue until he had it stuffed inside of her poop-chute as far as it would go.

When he felt her using her sphincter muscles, contracting them tightly and energetically around his tongue, he smiled to himself. He held his tongue steady and jabbed it in and out, one hot pistoning stroke after another. And each time brought her ever closer to a climax, able to feel the pistoning prodding motions of his tongue reverberating all along her vaginal sheath.

Her words of protest turned to hisses and grunts of excitement and after he had eaten out her ass for what seemed to be hours on end, he slowly pulled it out from its delicious confinement. But that was only the beginning. Without saying anything else and he had, in fact, been silent all this time, he slid his tongue down past the bottom edge of her anal crease, past the tiny slit of her piss-hole and farther still until he was slurping against the lowest edge of her muff.

Amy's response was even more heated than he had dared imagine.

She tried to pull her knees up to her chest and when she couldn't do it, she thrust her buns back at his mouth, lifting her crotch up off the carpet at the same time. He pushed his face lower, his nostrils fluttering, inhaling deeply and savoring the spicy scent of her pungent and musky trench.

The tip of his tongue slurped along the bottom edge of each ruby-red cunt lip, tickling them and pushing forward with one heated slurp after another. The very sounds he was making, the way he was slobbering and drooling with excitement, all added to her pleasure.

She could think of nothing else but turning over, letting him cram his tongue and then his cock right inside of her shuddering hole. And this, despite the fact that she sensed aggressiveness on her part would not be particularly appreciated, was exactly what she found herself doing a moment later.

Unable to bear it much longer, she suddenly twirled around with a convulsive shudder, landing on her back and spread-eagling her naked and tawny thighs. "Oh, so good. I can't ... can't stop you," she murmured, hoping her words would be sufficient reason for him not to think ill of her.

But he was too far gone by then to worry about how she had taken it upon herself to tell him what to do next. His eyes opened even wider than before, as if he couldn't get in enough of her pussy. The plump meaty pouch, all covered with fleecy ringlets of honey-blonde pubic hair, made him pant loudly and like the stud, the savage sexual animal she had imagined him to be, he literally pounced and sprung down at her, pawing at her muff with his trembling fingers.

He ripped her cunt flaps wide apart, splaying them like reddened dripping wings, only to lash out with his tongue, stuffing it right inside of her musky trench. Her pussy made him growl and he slobbered and drank her juices down, coating his tongue with her oily and womanly secretions.

Capturing her clit, he tightened his tongue around it, squeezing the life out of it and making her claw at his shoulders, her hands pressing down against the top of her head. She held his face between her legs and rocked back and forth, letting him take his pleasure by eating her out.

But pleasure was exactly what he was giving her in return, her cunt on fire by then and her orgasm about to engulf her in another minute or so. Babbling and ranting incoherently, she trembled and burned, so aroused that she could hardly believe it was finally happening to her, finally and at long last.

But that sense of ecstasy and disbelief still didn't negate the reality of the situation. Because at that very moment, just as she got over the edge and screamed out that she was coming, he was only getting started, warming up to her, so to speak.

Her first orgasm however took him by surprise.

Joan never got off half as quickly, especially just by being eaten out. He marveled at her sexual response and worked on her cunt like a madman, stroking his tongue in and out eagerly and hotly. She twisted and bucked from side to side, holding his head in place, refusing to relinquish her grip.

"Do it, more, eat me, oh it's good, I can't stop, I'm coming, coming!" she screamed out, writhing on the floor. She was consumed with delight and the room spun around her. Her thoughts reeled in confusion and the pleasure engulfed her, the friction and pressure of his tongue digging its way in and out of her box making her convulse with maniacal intensity and sexual fervor.

But the more she got off, the harder she reacted so to speak, the more aroused Blake became as well. He didn't stop until she had reached the peak of her orgasm, slowly coming back to her senses. Thick rivulets of murky sap drooled down her vaginal walls, only to be sucked down his throat as he lapped like a kitten hunched over a saucer of cream.

But when she slumped back on the floor, now experiencing the after-throes of her volcanic and exhausting release, it was finally Blake's turn to get his own rocks off, now that he had seen to it that Amy Witney had achieved the first of what undoubtedly would be several more climaxes, before the afternoon's sexual banquet had reached its just conclusion.

With this thought first and foremost in mind, he staggered like a drunken man to his feet, towering over her and smelling her body as if she was an animal in heat, giving off a heavy and cloying rutting odor.

A steamy scent of sex and physicality hung in the air and he savored the pungent perfume of desire and looked down at her, realizing how intently and piercingly she was now staring at him, mentally undressing him in her mind.

What she had tried to see before and what she had failed to discover, had now made its appearance for the first and hopefully, so she thought to herself, not the last time. She couldn't stop gaping, able to see the thick distended pouch bulging out at her, tenting up the front of his denim slacks.

It gave every indication of being the masterful and swollen member she'd hoped it would be and now she waited, breathless with the expectation of what was soon to come. Lustfully, as if she was a conquest and he was a Roman legionaire about to rape her lush young body, she watched him as he licked his lips, ogling her and unable to conceal his rampant state of sexual excitement.

Nor did he want to conceal what she was begging to look at, her eyes still staring between Blake Clayton's thighs. He didn't know what to say to her, but words were of no ultimate importance, at least not now, not when she was panting, half-naked and lying there on the floor waiting for him to make his move.

Almost as if he was teasing her, toying with her head by his slow and sensual motions, he slid his hands to his crotch and took hold of the zipper to his fly. She watched him, all eyes to his torrid display, having never met a man who didn't want to grab her and cram his cock into place without a moment's hesitation.

But Blake was the man she had hoped he would be and he was enjoying himself too much to want to rush heedlessly into things. This way, he had a chance to stare at her body, to admire her lush and curvaceous figure.

"Take off your clothes, Amy," he whispered.

"All of them. Now."

The tone of his voice left little if anything to the imagination. He's going to rape me, Amy thought to herself. She nodded her head, going along with him, with the rules of his game. She would have torn her clothes off in a flash, even before he said the word, but now she pretended to be awed by his virility.

Trembling visibly, she reached back and unzipped her skirt and then unbuttoned her cardigan sweater, pulling it off of her arms and shoulders. She tossed it onto the floor, allowing him to see each ripe cone-shaped breast for the first time.

"Very pretty," he whispered, dry-mouthed, her disrobing almost a ritual which he could not interrupt.

She blushed, but it was a blush of excitement not embarrassment. She'd never come to doubt her own physical being and without even getting up off the carpet she pulled her skirt down, kicking off her penny loafers at the same time. She put the skirt next to her sweater and the shoes right alongside of them.

"Everything," he told her, and that meant her dark-green knee socks as well.

She peeled them off, acting out her part to the hilt. It seemed to her that he wanted her to be docile and afraid and so she kept on trembling, feigning fright as she pulled off her socks and lay there on the carpet, stark and utterly naked, completely at his mercy.

Mercy however was not what she wanted from Blake at that moment.

She wanted him to take her with every ounce of pride and lust he possessed and as soon as she had completed her disrobing, he pulled his cotton polo shirt out from around the waistband of his slacks and then tugged it up over his head. He tossed it onto the floor, allowing her a moment of worshipful awe as she took in the hairy planes of his muscular chest, each pectoral muscle fully defined, bulging out with brawny vitality.

A thick carpet of jet-black hair fanned out across his chest and up to his neck, tapering to a thick line which nearly obscured his navel from sight, then disappearing below his waist. He kicked off his shoes and then rapidly unbuckled his belt, his eyes never leaving her body, hardly blinking, for that matter.

His very silence hypnotized her and she shuddered genuinely now, almost as if she really was frightened. Never before had she been with a man of Blake Clayton's sheer sexual appeal. And she didn't know what to expect of either herself or him, for that matter.

His belt unbuckled, he yanked down his fly, never moving his eyes off of her. He was wildly aroused now, perhaps more aroused than he'd been in months. He hadn't balled anyone other than Joan for nearly a year and now he knew that raping Amy Witney had perhaps always been in the back of his mind, from the moment he'd spoken to her on the telephone when she'd called from Delancey to see if the position was still unfilled.

I need this, he thought to himself, needing the release, the sheer physical and emotionally detached pleasure of ramming his hard-on between her legs, taking her and giving her as much sexual delight as he was certain she would be able to give him in return.

That she knew the moves was something he didn't doubt and now he smiled, the grin of a champion seducer, a stud who always and inevitably got his way and met with success, even if other men met with failure. "Stay right where you are. Don't move until I tell you to," he whispered, licking his lips once again as his pants opened and he pushed them down, shucking them off of his waist and hips and letting them fall in a heap around his ankles.

Without bending down he kicked them off, first one leg and then the other. The slowness added incredibly to her sexual appetites, fanning the smoldering flames of passion he had kindled, ignited as well by the use of his long and agile tongue.

She wanted to burn all over again. Only this time, she wanted his cock to start the erotic fires going, not his tongue. And he fully intended to give her that, for as his trousers dropped to his ankles, her unwavering and piercing stare was finally rewarded.

Behind the urine-stained fly of his tight white boxer shorts she was able to see the outline of his hose, tenting up the front of his briefs. His cock was pushed to the side, but even before he skinned down his shorts, she could see the huge throbbing outline it made behind the thin cotton cloth.

The rounded swell of his nuts could be seen as well. Just staring at the silhouette of his still hidden dick made her pant and more and more sap streamed down the shuddering walls of her muff. It was as if her body was getting ready, preparing itself for the assault, the sheer throbbing attack of his dong, lubricating her vaginal sheath so that when he took her-brutally she hoped-he wouldn't rip her sensitive vaginal flesh with his massive arm of cock-flesh.

That it was massive she could no longer doubt, for what she was able to see told her more than enough. This was the man, the well-hung stud she had long imagined in her dreams. But now she wasn't asleep. She was wide-awake and she waited there for him, breathless with expectation.

"I hope you don't break too easily," he told her then. "It took my wife Joan nearly a month to get used to me, if you know what I mean, Amy."

She wasn't sure, not until he hooked his thumbs underneath the elastic waistband of his shorts and skinned them down. Only then did Amy Witney understand what Blake had said, not doubting the truth of his statement.

She looked at him with absolute shock, knowing precisely what it was that had taken Joan Clayton four weeks to grow accustomed to. But as far as she was concerned, she would get used to it within the hour. And that, she thought to herself, is something not even Mr. Blake Clayton could dare hope to believe possible.

For what she now stared at seemed too big to be real, the mammoth column of flesh like the arm of an infant, the head like a fist or a ripe peach. It arched out from his hairy stomach at a forty-five degree angle, his heavy nuts swinging pendulously between his brawny thighs.

Nine inches at the very least, she surmised, and as thick around as my wrist. She gaped, totally in awe of his potency, the sheer physical dimensions of his massive penis. And then his lips parted and his tongue snaked out at her. "It's time we got better acquainted, my pet," he whispered hotly.

All Amy could do was nod her head up and down, again and again and again.