Chapter 1
Nick Prescott felt both bored and vaguely ill at ease. He kept wondering what was happening in Room 712. Ever since the Marnham couple had checked into the hotel earlier that evening, he had felt a kind of unvoiced suspicion, as if something was happening, something he ought to be able to witness or at least find out about. He had been sitting in the lobby, eying a girl in a checkered dress. She wasn't aware of his piercing inquisitive stare as he looked at her over the edge of his newspaper.
The girl had been looking nervously at her watch for the past half-hour and when she suddenly got up and made a dash to the revolving door and the street beyond, Nick sighed, weary and disappointed.
Nothing ever clicks, he thought, sitting back in his seat. The girl had the kind of sharp arrogant features that he got off on. Now, he watched her high round ass moving away from him. The glass doors turned and she was a blur, no longer visible in the violet city night behind the entrance to the Hotel Wilde.
"I should have known better," he said to himself, one hand creeping down to his crotch. Sure enough, she had turned him on. His hard-on rose up, a long thick projection which he tried to adjust. Then he got up from his chair and sauntered across the lobby to the front desk.
"What's going on up there?" he asked Ryan, the corpulent young man who worked as night clerk.
Ryan looked up at the house detective with a curious gleam in his eyes. "Where, Prescott? This whole place is full of freaks, as it is."
"Up on seven. Room 712."
"Oh, that couple who checked in earlier. What makes you think they're carrying on?" Ryan asked.
"Everyone carries on, prick," Nick spat out, annoyed at what he felt was the young man's apparent innocence. "You haven't lived enough, Ryan. Wait. You'll learn a lot sitting behind that desk. There are more freaks in this town, this country for that matter, than you'd ever imagine. Take my word for it. I know. I've been around too long."
Sure, Prescott thought. Too long. Much too long. I should get out now while the goings still good. Get away from all this crap. Build myself a little place and forget my name. Nick Prescott, ace chump of all time.
He hooked his thumb around the skeleton key that lay on top of Ryan's desk. With that, he kept sauntering, straight towards the elevator.
Nick Prescott was a naturally curious man. As he pressed the button for seven, not bothering to wait for the elevator man to take him upstairs, the doors closed behind him and he leaned against one wall of the car, wondering if the girl he had seen in the lobby would return. He hadn't asked Ryan if she was a guest or not, but now, he just couldn't get her out of his mind.
"Those same haunted eyes," he said aloud. The memory was unpleasant. He shelved the past with a shrug and a grimace, thinking of all the years he had wasted working for the Hotel Wilde. Eight years now, he realized. First as a bell-boy, then a night clerk like Ryan, finally promoted to house dick on his thirtieth birthday, two years before.
But for some time now he had wanted out. He was tired of hotel food and waking up alone every morning. The job failed to quell his restlessness, despite the singular clientele who came and went, keeping him constantly busy, constantly on his toes. The hotel had a reputation for leniency and it was known for the rather wild excesses of its guests, more often erotic than not.
It was Nick's job to keep everything cool, to keep the eyes of the police as far away from the hotel as possible. Anything could—and usually did—happen, so long as the cops never found out. His boss had told him that the first day on the job. It was a kind of credo, a statement of purpose Nick was never allowed to forget.
Now, he tried his best not to think of the girl whose long supple legs had caused more than a passing tremor in his loins. He stepped out on seven, cocking his head to one side. The Marnham's had aroused his suspicions from the very start. Mr. Marnham, a tall and powerfully built middle-aged man, had come into the hotel, his wife following close behind.
She was a rather pale and frightened looking woman, weighed down by a huge steamer trunk she dragged along with her. Marnham had refused the services of a bell-hop and he had told the clerk on duty that he did not want to be disturbed.
Prescott had seen them come in and he walked down the corridor, remembering the strange harried glance Mrs. Marnham had given him, a glance that had seemed two parts sexual and one part anguish. He stopped at Room 712, sucked in his breath, thought of the girl who had literally run out of the lobby, and knocked on the door. He heard voices whispering from inside the room.
Mrs. Marnham finally moved towards the door, calling out, "Who's there please?"
"It's Nick Prescott, ma'am. Customer relations," he lied.
She opened the door a crack and even through the narrow space Nick could see how strangely she was dressed. Through a long diaphanous nightgown he found himself opening his eyes wide to see, plainly visible beneath her negligee, that she was wearing black mesh stockings and a rather frilly and elaborate black lace garter belt.
That was pleasant in itself, but what struck him as particularly unusual was that Mrs. Marnham, frail and pallid looking, was wearing high black leather boots, boots with spike heels at least six inches long. "Can I help you?" she whispered as he openly ogled her strange and rather bizarre costume.
More nuts, he thought to himself, saying, "I was just making sure all you and your husband's needs were being taken care of." He kept glancing down to her crotch, able to see wisps of light brown hair coming out of the edges of her garter belt.
Not bad, he thought. A little bony, flat-chested maybe, but not bad in a clinch. Quickly, Prescott put his hands in front of his crotch, feeling his massive cock throbbing painfully. It always happens like this, he thought to himself, knowing how little he could control his sexual drives once they went into gear.
As he pressed his hands against the rising bulge behind the fly of his trousers, Mr. Marnham's tall muscular figure rose up behind his wife, blocking the doorway. "What can I do for you, bud?" he asked in a surly and derogatory way.
Prescott felt the color rising in his cheeks. "Just making sure you were comfortable," he said.
"We're doing fine. And we don't enjoy being disturbed," Mr. Marnham replied stiffly, slamming the door in his face.
Nick was infuriated, but he stood there, fingering the key in his pocket. Then he laughed soundlessly, knowing that he had the upper hand. Who the fuck does he think he is? he thought, seeing Marnham's face once again, the tall bear-like man hovering over his wife, smirking at Prescott.
Quickly, his resolve making him walk with determination, Nick used the skeleton key to gain admittance into Room 714, right next to the Marnham's. Fortunately, the room was not occupied and he walked quietly to the wall which adjoined both rooms, Removing a painting of a pastoral scene which was duplicated in nearly every room in the hotel, Prescott found what he was looking for.
Few guests knew of the peepholes, for they had been installed when the hotel had remodeled several years before. Thanks to the voyeuristic tastes of the Wilde's owners, the house detective was able to do a little freelance spying, knowing that the intricate flocked wallpaper pattern would just about make his peering blinking eye invisible.
But before he did anything else, his hand dropped to his sides. He suddenly thought he realized something about the girl he had seen in the lobby. That face, he thought. I know I've seen it before. The girl had a small strawberry right above the bridge of her nose. Prescott had thought that it made her face look vulnerable, for other than that one small blemish, she was cold and haughty, a cool bitch who knew what she had and how to use it. But the eyes were frightened and now, as he stood by the wall, it came to him that several weeks before a middle-aged woman with dyed jet-black hair had come in demanding a room.
She also had that mark, Prescott thought, wondering if the two were related. The woman had not stayed long, two or three days in all, before she had hastily departed. Maybe they were looking for each other, he wondered. There's more to this than I know about.
A sharp moan from the Marnham's room brought him to attention. Working adeptly, he removed the eyehole and pressed his face to the wall, able to command a total and unhampered view into Room 712. He saw Mr. Marnham emerge from the bathroom, dressed in a bathrobe. His feet were bare, his thighs muscular and hairy. "You gave him the eye, all right," he told his wife.
Mrs. Marnham sat on the edge of the bed. She had apparently been crying, for Prescott saw that her eyes were reddened, her cheeks moist with tears she had tried to dry with the back of her hand. She looked even more pallid and morose than he had originally thought.
She glanced up, biting down on her lower lip, "And why shouldn't I have?" she said defiantly. "He looked marvelously sexy, although when it comes to the meat and potatoes department, my dear, you've got them all beat."
Prescott wondered what she meant. Marnham laughed at his wife's private joke and moved towards the bed. Then, with a vicious and sudden backhand slap, he crashed his hand down across her face. "Kneel," he told her, arrogant, laughing sadistically.
Mrs. Marnham did as she was told and Nick's heart began to beat wildly as he watched the strange scene unfolding before him. Already, he could see something tenting up the front of Mr. Marnham's terry cloth bathrobe, something that gave promise of satisfying any of his wife's physical (and perhaps even emotional) needs.
She looked up at her husband, her wide-opened eyes reminding Prescott—once again, he thought, annoyed at what seemed to be a growing mania, an obsession on his part—of the girl he had seen in the lobby. Both of them frightened, both of them somewhat cowed and broken in spirit. No wonder, he thought to himself, eying her husband uneasily.
Mr. Marnham looked down at his wife, assuming a smirk of arrogance. His bold glance seemed to strip her naked and he kept laughing. He was well over six feet tall and his hair was dark black, curling down behind his ears, ending in thick scraggly sideburns. His eyes were dark as well, large pools of liquid tar, complementing his firm and strong looking body. The top of the robe was opened, exposing the dark curling hairs on his powerful chest.
Who'd want to mess with him? Nick thought as he saw Marnham rubbing himself nervously, twisting his chest hairs around one finger. His wife's small perky tits heaved up and down on her chest and she kept leaning backwards, as if to get away from him.
Nick was fast getting aroused. Just looking at the strangely dressed woman gave him a hard-on. His cock was still throbbing, but now it burned with a strong insistent itch that traveled up and down the length of his burgeoning shaft. He wanted a piece, a piece of the action as well. But he knew that all he could do was bide his time and see what would happen.
"What do you say, my dear?" Marnham asked his wife.
"Please ... please let me have what I deserve," she whimpered. But despite her obvious discomfort, her nipples were growing longer, turning taut and firm beneath her negligee. Prescott stared at them, his hand slipping into his trouser pocket to slowly and methodically rub against his huge pulsating cock.
Why? he thought. Why do I always end up like this? Why can't I have someone of my own, someone who'll care? He thought of all the years he felt he had wasted, all the lonely days and nights he had dreamed and longed for someone to be there for him. It was for this reason that the girl in the lobby kept coming to mind. Nick knew that she reminded him of the one woman he had ever exposed his guts to, the one woman he had ever cared about.
"Have what?" Marnham went on. "What do you want to have?"
"Your meat," she whispered. "Give me your meat on a silver platter."
Prescott could imagine Mrs. Marnham's fright, but he also sensed that she was well versed in her role. He suspected that she was getting increasingly excited as her brutish husband stood over her, the front of his bathrobe bulging with his still unrevealed erection.
Indeed, he was not far from the truth.
For Mrs. Marnham was certainly getting aroused. She could feel the familiar stirrings of desire ebbing through her loins and her clit was tingling, growing erect and throbbing as her juices began to ooze down the walls of her box.
She looked up at her husband, studying his body with practiced and unabashed lust, slowly slipping her tongue out to lick her lips, nervous and impatient.
"Tell me more," he went on.
"Show me it," she went on. "Yes, let me see what you have to punish me with. You're the only man in the world for me, Marnham."
Her husband seemed pleased and his lips curled back in a snicker of approval.
With a single abrupt motion he undid his robe, pulled it off and revealed his huge and thickly veined cock. "Is this what you want?" he asked, rubbing his hands up and down the length of his massive swelling dong.
Mrs. Marnham gasped with delight. The sight of her husband's body, and his cock in particular, never failed to arouse her. His firm hairy body, his enormous penis, his arrogant manner, all combined to seduce her into total submission.
She kept looking as it seemed to grow before her very eyes. Her excitement mounted proportionately and every time he rubbed his dick with his hands, her pussy itched, unbearably hungry for his meat.
Marnham's skin rippled with his strength, his muscles bulged and his cock stood out like a huge fat handle of flesh between his thick-set hairy thighs. He moved forward, the fist-like head of his dick inches away from his wife's face.
"What do you say now?" he asked.
"Please," she whispered. "Let me."
With a loud and savage laugh, he pulled her hair back, forcing her to open her mouth. Triumphant, grinning maniacally, he began to stuff his hose right down her throat. His wife began to choke, gurgling frantically as her husband kept pushing forward, slamming more and more of his huge hot poker of a cock down her throat. His laughter didn't subside, but grew louder until she had every last fucking inch between her lips, her nose rubbing against his thick hairy pubic bush.
"Now suck, my little cunt, my dirty little pussy. You liked the guy who came to the door and now you'll like this even better." And saying that, he began to pump vigorously, thrusting his cock in and out of her mouth.
She struggled to breathe, reaching up to run her hands up and down his legs, tasting the musky pervading male smell about him, feeling the thick stiff shaft drilling in and out of her mouth. She wanted more, everything, and her cunt hairs were already matted with the juices of her insistent desire.
But she knew enough to keep quiet, realizing that her husband could not be rushed, that one had to go by the rules of his strange erotic pseudo-sadistic games before satisfaction could be achieved.
"Suck harder, bitch!" he yelled, lashing out at her, his buttocks quivering as he kept humping into her mouth, moaning with rising delight. "Play with my nuts, while you're at it."
His wife did as she was told.
Quickly, even as her husband kept shoving his hips forward, slamming his cock in and out of her lips, her fingers came up to fondle his balls. The heavy furry and wrinkled sac swayed between his thighs and she toyed with his balls as she sucked in her cheeks, working on his dick.
As for Prescott, whose eye was to the peephole, watching with delight and astonishment, it was all too lovely to describe. Not even realizing what he was doing, he pulled down the zipper to his fly, rummaged around inside and, with considerable difficulty, pulled out his cock.
Although not as large or unwieldy as Marnham's, it stood up a good eight inches, thick and tipped with a crimson cock-head. Spitting into the palm of his hand, he began to work his slobber up and down the length of his tool, still watching the goings on in Room 712.
Finally, Marnham pulled his cock away and ordered his wife to take off her clothes. "Make it snappy," he railed out at her as she quickly pulled her night-gown over her head, exposing the two firm mounds which had first attracted Prescott's attention.
She rolled down her stockings, her thighs ivory-white and supple. Prescott kept watching, kneading and whacking off his cock as Mrs. Marnham removed her garter belt and revealed her pussy, covered with light brown curls which formed a ragged triangle surrounding her mons.
Her husband was more than appreciative.
He could see the tiny pointed knob of her clitoris poking up from between the lips of her pussy. "You're hot for me, aren't you?" he said, staring down between her legs, looking intently at the damp thatch which covered her snatch.
"Do it, Joey," she whispered. "Yes. Give me what I deserve. I've been bad. I need to be punished with your cock."
"You will be," he assured her as she moaned faintly, looking at this penis as he pushed her onto the bed and wrenched her thighs apart. Prescott felt the blood throbbing in his temples and in his penis, rhythmic pulsations which only grew more insistent the more he jerked himself off.
Mr. Marnham gave a short dog-like laugh, almost a bark, and knelt down between his wife's open thighs. His penis was huge and bristling, straining with life. The head was a fiery red as it stood out between the hairy firmness of his legs.
With both of his hands, he began to touch and tickle his wife's twat. He pulled apart the rosy swelling lips of her cunt, exposing the small pulsating knob of her clitoris. Taking it between his thumb and forefinger, he began to frig her as Prescott remained hidden, his eye blinking as he stared at the juicy gaping opening of the woman's luscious hole.
It was a sight to make him tremble and his hands raced up and down the length of his tool. He began to gasp with growing fervor, his nuts tingling and tightening as his sexual excitement continued to mount. Although he had done this kind of thing before—spying on various hotel guests—it never failed to arouse him.
To watch strangers, fucking, sucking and performing their various and sundry acts of sexuality, always entertained him. And now it was no exception. The Marnham's seemed to exude an air of strange and perverse eroticism. There was something sinister about the way they reacted to each other and Prescott was caught up in the subtle nuances of then-strange relationship.
He kept staring, watching Joey Marnham diddling his wife's clitoris, his thumb coursing up and down the wet soft ridges and folds of her prominently exposed vulva. His pleasure and delight could be seen in the way his massive mule-cock continued to twitch, bobbing between his thighs as he knelt down between his wife's legs.
"Oh yes, now!" she hissed suddenly, her voice pitched low and heavy with implications of strenuous and exotic fucking. "Suck on it you beautiful humpy cock. Do it. Put your lips there and suck me dry!"
Opening her legs even wider, she groaned loudly as her husband quickly bent his head down, burrowing his face into her twat. His tongue thrust out, wide and raspy, sucking up and down her pussy with frantic delight. She began responding by arching her back, shoving her cunt up to his mouth just as he had forced her to suck on his cock several minutes before.
"Yes baby. Tongue it. Harder," she begged, still moaning as Joey worked on her pussy, wrapping his tongue tightly around her clitoris. Prescott moaned with them, still playing with his pecker.
Mrs. Marnham's urgent commands only seemed to excite her husband even more. He was big and overpowering, dwarfing her as he kept licking, tasting the abundant pungent sap which trickled down the walls of her box. His tongue kept digging in frenziedly, his lips drawing the hard little knob of her clitoris right into his mouth.
And as he ate her out, his hands came up and around to grasp the succulent cheeks of her ass. Burying his head even deeper, he dug his nails into her buttocks and she squealed, pushing herself forward as he impaled her with his restless searching tongue, drilling down into her with jabbing sucking strokes.
"Baby, more, more," she told him hotly. "Do it. Make it good and juicy and then punish me. Punish me with that cock of yours. It'll rip my guts out, it's so big."
Prescott didn't doubt it. He'd seen more cunts and cocks than he could remember, but none so mammoth as the one Joey Marnham was lucky enough to possess. It was the type of penis most women would have come over and Nick didn't doubt Mrs. Marnham's impetuous excitement for one second. He knew she was serious and he envied her husband, both for his oversized dick and for the chance to get his meat buried right down between those lovely shapely soft thighs.
Mrs. Marnham threw her head back and began sobbing and groaning in fierce desire. Her mouth hung open, the jaws slack as she mumbled incoherently, staring wildly as her husband kept working on her hole.
Clutching his fast-moving head with her hands, she pulled his mouth down even closer, deeper and deeper into the hot wet recesses of her burning cunt. Her entire body was poised on the edge of an explosion, writhing and shuddering violently as she drew nearer and nearer to an orgasm.
But her husband wasn't about to let her come so quickly.
He didn't want to make things easy for her nor encourage her to reach the peak of pleasure as a result of his own energetic attack on her vagina. But he still kept lapping, bringing her to the very brink of a nerve-shattering climax. Moaning and crying from the very depths of her being, Mrs. Marnham kept begging him for more, urging him on.
"Fuck me! Do it. Shove it in. Fill me, Joey. Oh shit yes. I need more. More, all of your meat right inside me!"
Her hips and thighs lurched and heaved up towards his mouth and he allowed her to plead, smiling to himself as he heard the sounds of her plaintive wailing, her begging rising up around him. Then, with sudden determination, he knew exactly how to punish her.
Pulling his head back for an instant, he screamed out, "Slimy ball busting bitch cunt!" before shoving forward again as the room echoed with the sudden agonizing yelp of her excruciating pain. For Joey Marnham had done what in Nick Prescott's eyes was the unthinkable. He had returned to the head, the knobby button of his wife's clitoris. Taking it between the edges of his front teeth, he had clenched his jaws, biting down on it.
"You fucking spineless cunt bastard!" he roared, slapping her across the mouth as he stood up, looking down at her, a tiny droplet of blood staining the crimson slick inside of her vagina. And then all of his rage was lost in a series of loud moans and sobs. Mrs. Marnham reached up and clutched her husband, pressing her face against his hairy groin, whimpering as her knees clenched together spasmodically and she suddenly began to come.
The fury and intensity of her climax, even without the benefit of his mouth, was something which truly amazed Nick Prescott. He was still spying through the peephole, dropping his frigging hand to his side so that he wouldn't shoot.
He wanted to save his spunk until the perfect moment, relishing Mrs. Marnham's display of convulsive shudders as a gush of juice trickled down over her plump womanly mons, dripping over her thighs. Her husband looked down and kept laughing, refusing to touch her as she jabbed a finger into her box, her climax making her weak and senseless with erotic delight.
But when she quieted down, whimpering softly, stretched out on the bed, Joey Marnham moved into position. An expression of unmitigated and animal lust covered his face as he took hold of his jutting cock stem and hovered over his wife's prostrate body.
With a roar of animalistic intensity, he pushed down as she looked up, crying out with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Her husband began to pound his cock into place, stretching the walls of her pussy to the breaking point as Prescott kept watching. The house dick saw how Mrs. Marnham's cunt was being brutally assaulted, the hole gaping now as her husband thrust forward, his weight centered at his hips.
"Here you go, you piece of shit!" he cursed her, watching the progress of his tool as it drilled down into place. The head of his cock was already lodged between the outer and puffy cunt flaps and now he could feel the erect little finger that was her clitoris twitching in response to the heated thrusts of his massive column of flesh.
He crushed it down against his cock-shaft as he kept poking forward, staring down between his hairy thighs as he funneled more and more of his penis into place. The wetness and warmth of his wife's vagina made him tremble with pleasure and he was not content until he had gotten every last thick throbbing inch into place.
Finally, when all Prescott could see was the very base of the man's dong, hidden inside his wife's vagina, Marnham began to pump. Their bellies met, one firm and hairy, the other white and plump, as Marnham began to jostle back and forth. His wife's resistance was completely gone, melted in the air that seemed saturated with growing lust.
She felt the smooth stiffness of her husband's masterly cock insinuating itself inside of her twat. It seemed to glide easily, her cunt walls so well coated with sap that the friction was as if she had oiled her channel, thus allowing him to get inside with a minimum of difficulty.
"Yes, my darling. Oh shit, what a cock. It's so hot, so thick. I can feel it everywhere," she groaned as he kept pumping his meat in and out, not saying a word to her, but concentrating totally on the task at hand.
It thrust forward, banging down against her clit with each well maneuvered poke and she felt it all the way to the entrance to her womb. His balls kept knocking against her buttocks, their crisp furred surface tickling her with a delicious sensation of being fucked both anally as well as vaginally.
"Harder," she kept saying. "Yes, you're the one. I was bad, very bad. I had to be punished. And you're the only man who knows how. The only one!"
If he heard her, which Prescott was sure of, Marnham said nothing. He was too involved in achieving his own pleasure, especially since his wife had already come. He banged all the way inside, felt the rear wall of her womb hitting the head of his enormous cock before he backstroked, pulling out nearly to the entrance to her pussy and her dilated cunt lips. Back and forth he worked his dick. Long shoves were followed by slow almost burning short shoves back as he kept quickening his rhythm, urging her on with greater and greater energy and delight.
With one hand, Marnham reached down as his wife wiggled against him. He rested for an instant, caught his breath and continued, his fingers feeling the base of his cock as it was encircled by her cunt lobes. The hairs around his cock rubbed and frictioned against her own curly pubic mound and when he reached to touch her clit against the lower end of his dick, the rubbing sensation made his wife scream out with incredible passion.
"What are you doing to me!" she yelled. "Your touch. I'm burning. Joey, come. Fill me, shoot, my darling, my big hairy beautiful big-cock!"
Prescott had seen women excited before, but none as overcome as Mrs. Marnham appeared to be. Her skin was tinted a reddish rosy color, as if she was actually glowing from within. It surprised him that her husband paid no attention to her tits, for the woman's nipples were pointy and firm, just aching to be sucked.
He would have gladly exchanged places with the forceful Marnham, but he stayed where he was, his cock just as hard as ever. Once again, he began to play with himself, timing his slow up and down strokes to match Joey Marnham's insistent plugging and unplugging movements as he kept battering in and out of his wife's squishing and juicy vagina.
A shiver of delight ran through her as she felt his cock and his finger, the two of them making her clit burn with incredible intensity. His strokes got quicker and shorter as the hairy cheeks of his ass wiggled and quivered, responding to her touch.
She reached up and behind to grasp her husband's firm muscular buttocks, squeezing them erotically as his breath came out in short heated gasps to match the frenzied intensity of his strokes. His wife was sighing loudly and more juices were beginning to exude from her snatch as he kept thrusting his dick up into her pussy as if he was trying to ensheath his entire body into her womb.
"Do it, I'll shoot!" she suddenly warned him.
"Soon. Soon you'll have more than you can take," he promised, still working intensely as Prescott noted how the guy's heavy pendulous nuts covered his wife's upraised ass, wagging and rubbing and banging against the cheeks of her bottom.
Her thighs kept opening and closing, reminding him of the death throes of a landed fish. The knees pushed forward and then down again as she continued to shiver with uncontrollable passion, squeezing her thighs around her husband's joint as it stiffened inside of her, harder than ever.
"Make me come," she told him. "You know how. You know how to excite me like no one else, Joey."
He seemed to ignore her heated compliment as his cock began to throb inside of her, her female juices wetting it down from the very head of his dick to the hairy base. A delicious and almost maddening sensation took hold of him and he felt delirious and in command of the situation, knowing also that he wouldn't be able to hold back for too much longer.
He clung to her and moved his lips to her mouth. Their tongues met and spit dribbled out of the corner of her mouth as she kept sucking on her husband's tongue. Marnham's hand tightened around her ass as if he was trying to squeeze the breath out of her.
And, at the same time, she played with his buttocks as well, reaching down with one extended finger to slowly and sensuously rub up and down the length of his hairy bum furrow, tickling him delightfully as he pushed his bottom back to her, encouraging her to grow even more lewd and aggressive.
Still sucking on her tongue, Joey Marnham felt the first sign of his impending crisis. His balls seemed to tighten as if someone was squeezing and gripping them. They wrinkled even more, sending chills up and down his spine.
Heaving forward, he gasped loudly, readying himself.
Prescott was also about to come and his cock glistened with his spittle as he kept whacking himself off, staring at Mrs. Marnham's tits and pussy, hungering after her and wondering how he might be able to get into her box. And when he heard Joey Marnham screaming out that he was about to shoot, he stiffened violently and his cream soared up the length of his pole, splattering into the air in a great hot arc of gism.
He kept trembling as more and more come spurted out, watching as first Mrs. Marnham and then her husband joined him in the pleasurable ecstasy of their own orgasms.
Joey stiffened, arched his back and began to cream. His semen gushed into his wife's pussy and as she felt it searing the walls of her battered and overheated snatch, she began to come as well. "More," she kept begging. "Oh shit, yes. More, come, give me come. All over me; cover me with it!"
He laughed sadistically now, feeling his power and overwhelming strength as he drilled into her with a sudden burst of energy, grinding his hairy chest down against her tits as his come kept shooting out, filling her pussy so that it dribbled down over her bush, matting the hairs around his groin and soaking the sheets with his abundant spend.
He didn't stop shooting until she had milked him dry, bringing her cunt muscles into play as she clutched him, trying to hold him in place. "What a fuck, what a great beautiful thing you are," she told him, mumbling and rambling on as he kept laughing at her apparent helplessness.
He knew how much she needed him. He knew as well how much she responded to his every move and he lay on top of her long after the last slimy wads of his milky-white cream had been triggered out of his cock. He was perfectly content, drenched in sweat as he crushed her down beneath him.
As for Nick Prescott, he stood against the wall, shaking, his hands dripping come onto the carpeted floor as he tried to regain his composure, wondering if he should just stuff his cock back into his pants or make a surprise visit next door to Room 712.
But that decision was, at least for the time being, made for him. For at that moment someone began to scream.